The Mendenhall Wetlands State Game Refuge is a Juneau gem. Yesterday you wouldn’t have known it’s still springing UP from the weight of glaciers. After crazy rains and big tides, it earned its keep as semi-submerged wet land. Really, the refuge is one of the things that makes living in Juneau — even when the weather turns to shit–aesthetically pleasing. This intertidal oasis squeezed between Egan Drive, Gastineau Channel and Douglas Island is a rich gathering spot for migrating birds, fish, fishers, hunters, kite surfers, kite flyers, voles, meth addicts (so I learned while parking yesterday), crossing bear and deer, 737s, and as of this winter, a new gas station. Ugh.
Anyway, a few steps into yesterday’s slog, I almost turned back. The trail from our access point was non-existent. The muck looked like lava. Before I had time to be sensible, Cedar’s Lab genes kicked in and we were committed. I had as much fun watching her, I think, as she did mucking it up.
Yesterday morning I felt my lungs fill and my shoulders drop as we entered the woods. The day’s urgencies left and I let myself get a little lost in Cedar’s happy trot and whatever “new” the big tree trail had to show us this particular morning. As I relaxed into the walk, I took some solace in the fact that the day of the week has no meaning or value in the forest ecosystem. “It’s not Wednesday in the woods” felt like a consoling observation, and because I’m so witty, maybe even a blog post title.
As I walked on, though, I started thinking a little more about that proposition. Seeing the yellow and the wilt on the Devil’s Club, I mulled on where we are in the seasonal round. Well over half-time for sure. Wednesday, I thought, is the fourth day of week’s seven days…and August isn’t far off from late Wednesday of the year.
Then I started thinking of my own time on earth in these terms. It may not be Wednesday in the woods. It may actually be Thursday.
Lots of late August droop to the Devil’s Club.
Scared by some gift cowboy boots.
Sandy Beach heaven
Sandy Beach devil
Varied Thrush (John Prine’s “When you’re dead, you’re a dead peckerhead” comes to mind.)
I heard someone say that August is the Sunday night of the school year. We’re well into Tuesday here, even though we have a chunk of the month left.
Tim and Katrina left last week. Katie goes this week. And dear Cedar–who failed her second bear encounter test–may soon be meeting “The Educator.”
I love her. The kids love her. And she comes when called most of the time. Bear 2 was a pretty epic failure, though. She had been out in the boat with us–admittedly cooped up for some time–and I let her out of the truck as I detached the boat in the near-darkness…about 9 pm. Cedar immediately got her hackles up, woofed, and took a few quick steps towards a HUGE shadow of a creature in the neighbor’s driveway.
She bolted for the bear.
I called her somewhat calmly. I bellowed. I blew the whistle. She came about halfway back, then spun back around for Ursa giganticus, who also turned out to be Ursa mellowest. Cedar eventually came back (to an audience of a neighbor or two) and Gentle Ben sauntered on, a shadow leaving shadows.
So … maybe it’s time for me to remind Cedar that I am not bound by the terms of conventional warfare. I am not above trading my pride, and a fair bit of cold hard cash, for a little bit of e-schooling.
Meanwhile, a few shots from the dog’s days of August.
And luckily, to my knowledge, brown fish can’t. But dang, they can flop. Our girl was a little freaked out by the muscular spasms of our trolling bycatch last night—her first glimpse and smell of halibut.
Cedar hoping to improve the view around here. (#laughterbykatrina)
Almost counts in horseshoes, hand grenades, and tiring Cedar out.Gordito.
Happy Birthday to Cedar. Her gift you ask? She finally got to practice all that training with an off-leash encounter with a large black bear.
Missing from AKC missive: Eaten approximately $1,000 of dog food. And two pair of $150 shoes.
Fortunately, or unfortunately (I’m really bad at judging), it was more her ski training than the recall work that did the trick.
We were walking home on the big tree trail and I had bear spray and a bell, but no leash. (Kids are home and she’s getting lots of outings.) Cedar saw or smelled the bear before I did. She growled and pointed and then I saw the bear, ambling uphill towards the trail, absolutely unfazed by my bell. I called COME to Cedar. She ignored me and began moving toward the bear in full hackles up, head down bark mode. As the bear pivoted and started moving back in the direction from which it had come, I yelled ON BY (our ski command for moving past other skiers), and she complied, trotting down the trail, looking and sniffing over her shoulder with a grumble or two.
Two nights prior, we had a couple of seconds of excitement, too. Tim, Katie, and I were enjoying a king salmon dinner, with surprise guest Delaney. Cedar had gotten a little too interested in the kitchen table, so I clipped her out on the run. As I was at the sink, Delaney, matter-of-factly commented, “You have a bear on your deck.” I turned to see a full grown black bear with both paws on the deck, about 3′ from clipped in Cedar. I opened the door, grabbed Cedar’s lead and hauled her into the kitchen. Seems like it was only then that Cedar realized the gravity of the situation and barked her bear bark. (Later that night, I said the word, “Bear” and she actually got her ears back and head down for a second. Tried it just now, and I think she has efficiently erased that part of her hard drive.)
The title is a dumb pun, I know—the kind of thing I get to do when I’m the editor in chief. But, and…Cedar, the watcher and thinker (and hearer and smeller and OMG, licker) has had a year now of bearing witness to a world full of newness and surprise and only occasionally danger. I’m grateful for the ways she is teaching me to bear witness, too, as we go “on by”, in our separate but overlapping worlds.
If I have to go in, maybe I can take some of the woods in with me?
Just a little?
Multitasking: Helping Dad (do his business) since he’s so good at encouraging me… while keeping the door open to other opportunities.
Devil’s Club berries; hermit thrushes like ’em.
Bugwatching
Birthday shot
Doing my best to look old and wise.
I’m not the only one exuding sap around here. Hemlock.
Finally cracked the coho code.
Maybe it wasn’t down rigger cable voltage. @Katrina, @Bergeron, @Krejci!
I’m back home and it’s August. While most of the country is in what they call the dog days of summer, as I get back in synch with my dog’s days, I’m reminded that our SE Alaska Augusts can be rough. I flew in from Seattle last night, on a plane filled with triathletes coming in for the Ironman. A cool guy named Andy from Minnesota asked, “Is August your hottest month”? We’re all a bit worried about hypothermia in the athletes as the National Weather Service predicts an “atmospheric river” event the next few days. The better part of two hours swimming in 50-something degree water, 6+hours of riding a bike in driving wind and heavy rain, and then… a marathon. The Lab Days of summer is more like it.
Cedar and I just hit the big trees, my first time on the trail since mid-July. The forest smelled like God’s musty basement. July was hard on vegetation and berries. The remaining blueberries tasted like earthy water; some watermelon berries looked and tasted like an acidy purple grape my grandfather used to grow. And some of the salmonberries appeared to have just dripped back into the ground. Better luck next year.
Maybe most ominous were the few yellow Devil’s Club leaves. It’s as if they’re trading in the green for some striking red berries at their tops (that I need to research). Skunk cabbage seems to be giving up defying gravity, ready to accept its watery-muddy fate.
Tall trees made me breathe deep (and I could see my breath)…
Old man contemplates Old Man’s Beard…
Yellow
Red
Mottled
Wine-dark watermelon berries
It appears Cedar’s dog days have been excellent, much thanks to Tenley, her new pal, who we’ll say good-bye, and gunalchéesh awaa to tomorrow.
We’ve had a few folks plan visits in August this year. The title of this post comes from the old hurricane warning I grew up with, for sailors considering voyages.
June, too soon. July, stand by. August, if you must. September, REMEMBER! October, ALL OVER!
Retooling this advice for visitors might look something like this:
June, too late. (May is the driest month. But there should be a king salmon or two.). July, Come on by (but bring your rain gear). August, if you must (or if you just want to catch fish). September, REMEMBER (I told you not to come this month unless you just want to catch fish!) October, ALL OVER!
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