By Janelle Eklund
April 13 and the snowshoe trail was still solid for the early morning run, despite around forty degree temps the day before. Even slightly freezing nights kept the snow in check. I thought I would be able to squeeze maybe another week out of the trail but shortly after that the days scooted on up to fifty degrees and night time temps either above freezing or close to. The trail becomes limp and liquidy. So as I hang up my snowshoes for another season I look forward to green things popping through left over bits of snow. Even on chilly days the warmth of the sun melts those un-shady places and shines its luxury on the body. Pussy willows are busting at the seams in response to the sun. Balsam poplar buds are plumping themselves out, ready to burst when the time is just right. About a month ago on a sunny day when the temperature was freezing, but not so bad as to freeze my fingers, the balsam poplar trees shared their buds with me. A jar of Balm of Gilead has been brewing since then and is just about ready to be strained and receive a little bees wax to make the salve. A death march has ensued upon the glistening white of winter. Rotten snow creates water pockets of lakes, some large and some small. Slick ice transforms to slush and we are able to shed boot cleats to keep from falling. Some south facing slopes are already bear of the white stuff. I suspect very soon the first crocus will be showing their pretty purple heads. Spruce trees will start the growth of new tender green tips. I still have some dried ones from last year I put in my tea each morning. Fireweed shoots are squirming in their slowly warming beds and will soon wake to the warmth of a new season. Now I'm dreaming of a succulent fresh salad from the re-born earth. Along with the dream of wild plants, garden plants are also coming out of the dream state and are a reality. The light table in the basement is full of seedlings. Some of them are squirming to get out of the little cells they were born in and find a bigger home. I'll have to find time this weekend to help them move. As the earth awakens so do the senses. The wonderful scent of balsam poplar buds lingers on the thin gloves I used while picking. Soon this sweet deliciousness will marry with soil aromas, envelope the air, and make one swoon. It's a time of transition, a time of re-awakening, a time to celebrate new life. From my light to yours-
0 Comments
By Janelle Eklund
We lucked out with the rough waters. The scary rocking and tipping of the boat subsided as the waters mellowed into Wells Bay, erasing my fears into the calm depths. As we anchored in Cedar Cove a young seal greeted us at the door to its home. The evening was peaceful and our hearts were content feasting on the fruits of the sea and land - a beautiful view, fresh baked succulent salmon, fried potatoes and fresh green beans from the greenhouse. The night was cloudy and threatening to rain but we went exploring before it wetted the land. We took the dinghy to shore and walked the short distance to Cedar Lake. A beautiful rocky meadow graced the end of the lake we were standing on. Profusions of the same wildflowers we saw yesterday decorated the meadow. Colorful salmon orange to brown mosses covered everything – rocks, trees, stumps, dead logs - living in harmony with their accepting host. Pockets of miniature pond dark tundra eyes stared at us. We rowed the dinghy to a couple places on the other side of the cove in anticipation of climbing the nearby hills. The vegetation was too dense to maneuver through so we explored the shoreline while warning Mr. Bear that we were visiting. Small colorful starfish clung to rocks in the undulating cycle of the tide. Wolf scat warned us that a wolf had been here recently. Back at the boat we sat on the deck reading the rest of the evening away as eagles silently soared and the boat swayed a lullaby. As we prepared to go to bed about 10:00pm a black bear showed itself exploring on the same shoreline we walked earlier. He wandered around a bit, probably investigating our scent, and then disappeared into the bushes. 6-19-03 Woke to rain, fog, and a grey calmness in the little cove. Leaving around 8:15am we headed to Valdez. As we left the bay we encountered some fairly good swells that fortunately had left the wind behind. When we got out into more open water the seas were even more playful. Definitely a sitting journey, secure everything and get out the ginger to ease the stomach for a choppy ride home. No white caps but waves coming at us sideways making for another hair raising ride. I hate those sideways-coming-at-you waves. They are very disconcerting! My beating heart kept in sync with the waters as they calmed the closer we got to Valdez, and was back to normal by the time we docked in the harbor at 12:15pm. Despite the rocky ride, it was another wonderful experience that kept us anticipating the next adventure to hidden coves, sea life encounters, and speaking glaciers. From my light to yours- By Janelle Eklund
We rose at 8:20am to a nice warm calm day of sun poking through lazy clouds. The darkness of the boat cabin made for better sleep compared to 24 hour daylight at home. Jelly fish did their exercises around the boat in the cover of this peacefully calm cove. The tide was going out heading for a minus tide at 11:20am so we pulled anchor and puttered out to the bay and had breakfast. I stood up front as we left the cove and watched the water for rocks as a few were visible in low tide – they were covered when we came in last night during high tide. There were jelly fish everywhere as we slowly motored out. A sea otter swam by the boat as we stopped for breakfast. Paul put the fishing pole in to try and catch some rock fish. His first catch was a small linc cod. We motored through Esther passage which revealed snow covered mountains in the distance. A somewhat narrow passage at the upper end opened into Port Wells. As we crossed over into Barry Arm and Harriman Fiord the view to the north opened into a parade of glaciers marching into College Fiord. Straight ahead at the end of Barry Arm a large glacier spilled out of a steep mountain and then lapped it’s tongue at the ocean surface. The closer we got, two more glaciers came into view to meet the other, all three lapping at the water to quench their perpetual thirst. Small bits of ice floated in the water and we were able to get fairly close to the glaciers. Another smaller boat ventured in amongst the ice even closer for an up close and personal look. We stopped and turned the engines off and feasted on egg salad sandwiches while we listened to the glaciers moan, groan and creak. Thunderous growls came from deep inside – giants rolling over in eternal nap. A braided waterfall fed by upland glaciers spouted off cliff walls like a fire hose in full operation. After absorbing the beauty of these dynamic glaciers we motored back across to Esther Passage, passing many pods of sea otters floating on their backs, some diving if we got too close. Round faces with big brown eyes and whiskers jutting out around their small noses and mouth. Pups lay on the protection of their mother’s tummy, little heads and feet sticking out of the water. Their little hands are held together either feeding or grasping their tail that’s folded up between their legs. Sea otters live together in large families. At the entrance to Esther Passage we fished for a bit with no luck. Then we headed over to Wells Bay. On the way we stopped at a rocky outcrop and dropped our lines in the water to try and get some rock fish. Just after Paul’s line hit the water a king salmon took it. It was a small to medium male. That was a fluke! We fished a bit longer but only had empty hooks so Paul cleaned the salmon and we kept going. The seas started to get pretty rough - scary enough for me to put on my life jacket and practice putting on the survival suit. I came to the determination that it would be very difficult to get it on fast enough in a emergency. But of course the adrenalin runs pretty fast in an emergency - so maybe it would slip right on - hah! I was hoping not to have to test that! Stay tuned next week for the continuing adventure. From my light to yours- By Janelle Eklund
We motored out of the harbor in Valdez at about 11:45am. As we neared Columbia Glacier we saw a line of ice that looked to be solid all across the bay. But as we got closer there were spaces to maneuver around. Paul decided to take the inside passage. It was a bit like tip toeing through a mine field. Weaving in and around the large chunks was fairly easy but after we got through that there were many small bergy bits all floating together, seeming to be holding a convention. Paul slowly managed to get through them with only hitting one or two small ones – no big deal. It certainly kept us on our toes, though, scouting a course. We probably won’t do that again. Arriving at Shoup Bay about 4:15pm, we anchored at a tucked in little cove. On the way here we saw what looked like a whirlwind and couldn't figure out what it was caused from until we saw a large whale tail slide under the water. The next time it surfaced was about a mile away. After anchoring for the night we motored the dinghy to shore and went for a short hike. The sun peaked through hazy clouds as we hiked up through a warm, calm lush meadow. A bear had stood on the edge of the meadow - evidence lay in a pile on the ground. So we yelled out letting him or her know we were visiting. A babbling brook ran through this beautiful meadow. Brook wore a colorful necklace of pink shooting star, chocolate lily, purple and pink daisy, yellow cinquefoil, purple iris and purple violets, along with prolific pinkish white flowers hanging from the blueberry bushes. Iris was just starting to bloom. Shooting star, daisies, and cinquefoil stood tall. Violets small and shy dotted the meadow in a pretty pattern. Brooks Saxifrage large green leaves provided the background, while salmon hues and dark brown mosses carpeted the meadow in a mosaic pattern. The brook fed this microcosm of life and the meadow responded in brilliant glory. We headed back to the boat in the dingy to have dinner and end the night. The water is teeming with large jelly fish trailing long translucent tentacles. Their bright orange bodies pulsated to the rhythm of the sea. While we waited for our dinner of tasty chicken pisole wrapped in tortilla shells to warm up we sat on the deck of the boat enjoying the peace, solitude and a drink. After a game of Mexican Train dominoes, which Paul won, we retired for the night to the gentle swaying of the boat and a lullaby of lapping waves. From my light to yours- By Janelle Eklund
Brooks Camp. A place for bear viewing but in my opinion more of a place for people viewing. There were definitely more people than bears while we were there! We were the ones in a cage of boardwalks and viewing platforms. Lines of people waited patiently for their turn on the platforms to catch a glimpse of a bear. One day we had sightings of bears five times. That doesn't mean to say there were five different bears. We escaped the cage and took the shuttle bus to the Valley of 10,000 Smokes. Even in the intermittent rain throughout the day this volcanic landscape had an air of beauty, peace and quiet. We hiked up a barren flat over the base of a mountain that bled with the stains of autumn fireweed. The pyroclastic blowout of 1912 poured tons upon tons of ash and heat hundreds of feet thick through the valley. Eighty eight years later a river has cut through this flow carving red grayish canyons. Perhaps this is how the Grand Canyon looked millions of years ago in its infancy. Life is starting to grow over this barren land. Lime green moss lays in clumpy carpets bringing with it miniature mushrooms, tiny purple harebells and other colorful plants. The river cuts a narrow gorge - so narrow in places you can step over it if you're careful. Bear and moose tracks make worn paths like the river. We were the only ones camped at the new visitor center at the end of the road. The solitude was warming. We enjoyed snuggling down in a chair near the windows reading about the area during an afternoon rain. As evening wore on the rain stopped and the clouds began to break up. We ventured out of our cocoon to watch rays of sunlight shoot through the clouds creating brilliant beams of light. The sun took its usual slow time setting, changing the moods of the landscape by the minute. Camera swung around my neck and lens in my pack, I walked out onto the crowberry laden tundra to fill a bucket. The berries were so thick you couldn't take a step without them crunching underfoot. My head was down in the berry patch but my ears attentive. Out of the evening came a sort of grunt and movement. I looked up and on the near hillside my eyes were graced with a bull moose silhouetted against the last flicker of light in the sky. I squatted down and quickly changed to the telephoto lens and snapped a few pictures as he came closer, only to find the evening light was too dark for a good image. As I slowly started to move away he saw me and kept his advancement. When he was about 200'-300' away he started rubbing his antlers against the bushes. I knew then I was in his territory and that was my cue to leave. I hightailed it closer to the protection of the visitor center. The moose faded into the evening light. I finished picking berries until my bucket was full and it was getting too dark to see. As the clouds parted more, a half moon rose above mountains and peaks and played hide and seek with the remaining clouds, bidding us a goodnight. From my light to yours- By Janelle Eklund
We left Walker Glacier at 10:15am. Clouds came in and there was light rain off and on most of the day. The river carried us fast passing glacier after glacier, each hanging between tall mountain peaks. It looked like glacier alley, one spreading out over a wide low valley. We went through another run of rapids with the skills of the oarsman keeping water from entering the raft. The river widened into a broad valley. We stopped on a gravel bar for lunch. A delicious pasta salad that was made the night before helped warm us up including our cold feet. The sprinkle of rain stopped and the warmth of the sun peeking through clouds helped add to our comfort. Our destination at Alsek Lake wasn't too far ahead. We stopped to climb a hill to observe our route around Gateway Knob into Alsek Lake. The top of the hill afforded us a spectacular view. Giant deep blue icebergs filled the lake in all kinds of shapes. There are three routes into the lake called the Channel of Death because of the icebergs. Channel one was the only door open, with the water too low in the other two. The current helped carry us into the lake. With a backdrop of three glaciers, the scene was mesmerizing as we rowed between icebergs sculpted by eons of time. By the time we stopped to camp the rain came back, forcing us to put up tents in the wet. It is obvious we are close to the Bay. The ceiling is low and socked in. We had a fine meal of pesto shrimp fettuccini for dinner under the protection of the tarp. The glaciers boomed in the distance dropping huge chunks of ice. So far away, yet its impact sent a small wave rolling by our rafts. Rolling hills across from camp were dressed in heavy mist until the air became so thick they disappeared. The next day was a layover day on Alsek Lake. Rain showers and sun played a dancing game with each other all day. We took a walk around the rocky shoreline at the base of Gateway knob listening to the glaciers heartbeat as they roared in the distance. As if shedding skin, one glacier would drop a load and another would resound the rhythm, a ritual in response to summer heat. Their screams reached our ears well after their shedding was laid to rest. Massive land oceans, these glaciers and mountains hold megatons of water and moisture. Their perspiration gives birth to thick dark clouds that shed their fury continuing their cycle. A giant iceberg rolled in its death march to the river. Clouds born from the ocean moved with great speed to clash with those born of mountains. Waves of changing weather rolled around us. Wind, rain, sun kept us busy changing our attire to suit the conditions. A couple of us tried to walk around the other side of Gateway Knob but were stopped in our tracks by a cliff wall with a watery base, forcing us to turn around. We took this surrounding blanket of dynamic beauty, wrapped it around us, and retreated to our tents. To be continued From my light to yours- By Janelle Eklund
A layover day at Walker Glacier gave us the opportunity to explore the spectacular ecosystem. It was nice to have a leisurely morning with a late breakfast absorbing the peace and relaxation. Some of us followed a trail that led us through alders and intermittent open areas splashed with glacial remnants in the form of light grey gravel. Other vegetation creeped into these areas in the form of pink pyrola, single sided pyrola, northern oxytrope, wormwood and a willow I couldn't ID from the plant book I carried - so I drew it. On the glacier we walked on a surreal world. In the unseen depths, as we crossed narrow crevasses, the thunder of a river let itself be known. The suns paintbrush melted surface ice carving an icy blue stream that flowed into the bowels of the glacier. Dotting the glacial tongue blue worm holes filled with icy water carved different shapes - some short and some with no end. We searched for ice worms but they were illusive. We had a picnic on the glacier, protecting our behinds from the cold of the glacier by sitting on our wool gloves while we ate. Even though it was a beautiful sunny day we protected ourselves from the chill of the glacial ice and breath with wind breakers, wool hats, and gloves. After exploring the glacier we relaxed around camp the rest of the day. An old patch on one of the rafts had herniated so we decided two layover days at Walker Glacier would give the second repair adequate time to dry. Being a day ahead of schedule also helped so we didn't feel rushed. The second day we entertained ourselves by sitting by the lake created by melting glacier ice and watched rocks fall off the moraine into the water. Huge bear tracks and old scat confirmed bear had passed by. We filled our sun shower with crystal clear glacier pond water and lay it on warm rocks where the sun and rock acted as a hot water heater. Once warmed we lay a dry bag on the gravel, hung the shower from a tree limb and proceeded to wash the river grime from our bodies. Once refreshed we lizarded (laid in the sun), took naps and wrote in our journals. Puffy clouds moved by blocking the sun now and then forcing us to cover, shed, cover, shed as they played with each other. The evening sun hid behind a mountain to the southwest shining its last light on the mountains to the east, bathing them in a pink hue. To be continued From my light to yours- By Janelle Eklund
Rescue operations for securing our raft from the grip of the root wad and river changed in an instant. The river flipped the whole raft upside down, carried it around the tree limbs and on down the river. The crew from one of the other rafts acted instantly, jumped in their raft, and gave chase for ours. Diane and I decided it was time to leave the safety of the root wad and get to shore to follow suit with the crew of the cataraft. We walked to the end of the tree to cross the shallow channel to shore. The bottom of the river was hidden in the heavy glacial silt. Knee boots worked well for 6'2" Paul when he crossed but would it work on a 5'1" frame? There was no choice so I proceeded and was delighted upon reaching shore without getting wet. There were six of us now on the cataraft. The river took mercy on us and slightly lodged our overturned raft in shallow water about a quarter mile down river. The raft that was in hot pursuit got there in good time. One person jumped out of the raft, sacrificing his feet to wetness, grabbed the overturned raft, and strained to keep the river from lifting it off the bottom of the shallows and carrying it further downriver. In a very short amount of time we were all there to secure the raft, attach a flip line and turn the raft right side up. It took five of us to flip it over with all the gear still under the gear net. Rower, Diane, was in tears about her tactical error. We consoled her and told her we were just glad we were all OK. The next step was to stop and camp for the night and dry out all the gear that got wet from lightly closed dry bags. I had become too lax in closing my bag all the way. For one thing it was a little too full and another - I thought nothing like this would ever happen! So much for thinking. Lesson learned. We found a gravel plain a few miles downstream. To get to it we had to line the rafts around a little island and across a shallow bar. Our raft was first and Diane and I unloaded while the other rafts were lined around. I wrung all my clothes and sleeping bag and draped them over accommodating bushes letting the sun be the dryer. Book and first aid kit were also laid out. The rest of the day was spent turning everything on the dryer. The wind cooperated with the sun so it was not too unlike a real dryer. By the end of the day things were mostly dry. A lot of stuff in our cooler was water logged and ruined. The dry bag with breakfast food, TP and paper towels also succumbed to water. We meticulously unrolled the paper towels and laid them out on the gravel to dry, weighted down with rocks. The TP was a lost cause - a big disaster! Dried paper towels would become TP. That night I wore my long johns and socks in my damp sleeping bag and was snug as a bug in a rug. Before retiring we took a short walk up the drainage behind camp, greeted the plants and drank in the beauty of high mountain peaks - hopefully planting the mind with sweet dreams. To be continued From my light to yours- By Janelle Eklund
This day after the encounter with the root wad challenged us once again, but lucky for us, it was not our raft this time. At a bend in the river the water rushed against a high vertical wall of rock decorated with a tree snag that jutted out into the river. This surprise made for an unavoidable encounter of the cataraft with the other raft. Too close to avoid each other they collided right at the snag, breaking an oar and wrenching the shoulder of the oarsman. Everyone managed to stop at a gravel bar a short way down river. The oarsman seemed OK, oar repairs were made, and we were on our way. Another potential disaster avoided. Our destination was Melt Creek, just above where the Alsek River meets the Tatshenshini. On river left the landscape became a parade of white mountain peaks. Tongues of jagged glaciers carved their way between each mountain. On river right luscious green slopes were dotted with bright pink fireweed. Ahead, on a gravel bar, a grizzly bear reared up on its hind legs startled at these strange out-of-place aliens floating down the river. We must have looked pretty scary. He plunged into the river and headed for the bank. The next thing we saw was lots of moving brush - and it wasn't wind. We never saw the bear again and he was probably glad not to see us again. As we got close to Melt Creek the river started braiding and fanning out, making for a very confusing situation. We didn't see the cairn that marked the campsite for Melt Creek and before we knew it we were at the Alsek, where we were able to stop and discuss what to do. The only course was to move on to Walker Glacier, as there were no campsites between the Alsek and Walker. Since the river was moving pretty fast we figured it wouldn't take long to get there. When we came down what is known as the 'Wind Tunnel' we were pleasantly surprised that the wind wasn't so bad. It could have been a lot worse. Glaciers melted their force creating raging streams that rushed into the main river. Bald eagles waited for the salmon run. Rounding the bend at the end of the 'Wind Tunnel' Walker Glacier finally came into view. Through binoculars we could see our friends camped there. Here the river is at least a mile wide and it was a challenge getting through shallow areas to our destination. This one we definitely didn't want to miss. Our friends were there to help us dock. Three hours from the Alsek and 44 miles from our morning launch, at 8:00pm we finally arrived, bone tired and chilled from glacial wind and water. Too exhausted to cook, our dinner consisted of salad, cheese, crackers and snacks. Our tales of the root wad were conveyed to our friends and negotiations began for trading Oreo cookies for TP. It was a hard bargain on how many Oreos we had to sacrifice. This, after my failed attempt to sell the paper towels (I meticulously dried for TP) for $1 apiece. Guess my price was worse than sacrificing Oreos. We are held in the arms of mountains and glaciers, with one like a wave on the ocean shore, frozen in time. We will sleep good tonight snuggled in our bags with bed time stories of glacial creaks and groans and the lull of the river. To be continued From my light to yours- By Janelle Eklund
When we stepped into our rafts in the mid morning sun it just seemed like it would be another great day on the river. Little did we know the harrowing adventure that lay ahead. The warmth of the shore didn't extend itself to the river. Glacial water and glacial winds air conditioned river currents. We put on thick layers of clothes covered by wind stopping rain gear that also would protect us from any active waves wanting to leap into the raft. Diane, who was from the lower 48, was in our raft. She assured us she had floated many a river - in the lower 48 - and knew how to handle the oars. So Paul put her in the driver's seat, not stopping to think that lower 48 rivers are not like far north braided rivers where reading the river is a skill unto its self. Her technique for avoiding obstacles was to use a ferry angle downstream and let the river do the work. After successfully riding through some rapids the glacial river braided out, with many channels to choose from. The shallow channels caught Diane by surprise. We were on them before we knew it and the river wouldn't stop to accommodate a correction - funny thing about that. A root wad of a tree lodged in the shallow water lay before us. She couldn't decide whether to go right or left. While she hesitated the river made a decision for her, and it wasn't a good one. As if by slow motion it swung us head-on into the root wad. There was no way of avoiding it, it all happened so fast. The force of the water pushed the left side of the raft up onto the top of the root wad. Despite our quick actions to immediately high side, the river swallowed the right side of the raft. It was at that moment we decided it was time to climb out of the raft and onto the root wad. The root wad was very accommodating and welcomed all three of us. The raft was hanging onto the root wad for dear life. We tried pushing down the raft but the force of it all was stronger than we were. The raft that was upstream of us saw our predicament and managed to stay in the outside channel and stop at the end of our tree. The cataraft in our fleet stopped on the upper part of the gravel bar across the channel that separated us from shore. The river was trying its darndest to grab our whole raft, bobbing it up and down to loosen it from the root wad. Tree limbs, hanging out in the main current, danced around the front of it. Paul walked to the end of the tree downstream and crossed the shallow channel to shore where the cataraft crew were thinking about rescue operations. The bank afforded no trees or anything to tie off to start a rescue. Poor Diane was beside herself. All she could think of and attempt to do was to get the raft off the root wad. I kept telling her to stay off the raft, that it was too dangerous. Two of the crew tied a throw bag rope on the back and tried to pull but the river was relentless. Another thought was to find a saw and cut the branches, hoping to free the raft. While all these ideas were being formulated the river continued to play havoc with the raft. My dry bag was bobbing around in the swamped raft with my wallet, camera and radio. I decided it would be a good idea to grab it if it was to survive. Other unsecured items started popping up from under the gear net. Some of us had become too laxidazical about making sure everything was securely tied in. Things started floating down the river, bail buckets, water bottle, dry bag, cup. Shortly after grabbing my dry bag the river had its day with the raft. To be continued From my light to yours- |
Who We AreWISEfriends are several writers connected with Wrangell Institute for Science and Environment, a nonprofit organization located in Alaska's Copper River Valley. Most of these articles originally appeared in our local newspaper, the Copper River Record. Archives
August 2021
Categories
All
|
WISE is a
501(c)3 nonprofit organization |
Contact Us |