After a series of delays and a rather trying week, I finally managed to return to Snettisham Saturday evening for a day/night at the homestead.  The first sunny weekend since….well, since it was downright winter, the trip down was beautiful and the water no more than a one foot chop or less.  There are still a few hundred sea lions at the haulout inside the entrance, and the loons are back.

I didn’t arrive until early evening and after anchoring the boat I set about collecting rocks for a new fire pit.  Now that the lodge structure is in place, I find myself less and less eager to haul supplies the long trek to the current “food cabin” on the rocky point (the lodge and the only good boat landing is on the opposite end of the property).  Since the lodge will one day be the kitchen, I decided to make a new pit in front of it.  The land in front is all muskegy soggy, which means I won’t be pestering my fellow drinkers with dousing the fire each night.

I took rocks from the beach and rocks from the rock slide behind the cabin.  After weeks of driving rain, the fire was reluctant at best with the wood I had handy.  Once it took off, I spent the rest of the evening drinking beer, sipping rum, and watching two whales cruise back and forth along the far shore of Gilbert Bay. 

Next morning, half asleep in one of my cabins, I heard a small explosion, rendering me fully awake.  I held my breath and waited for another—this one followed by a sucking inhale.  Whale blows.   I hurriedly dressed in the morning chill, then grabbed a snack and walked out onto the sand (see photo of my skiff high and dry).  Just past a -2’ tide, most of the river was confined to two channels on the far side, so I could walk forever.  I trekked down to the edge of the dropoff to deep water and watched two whales feeding at the edge of the inlet (see photo to left) and a herd of 50 harbor seals resting on a submerged sandbar.  Eagles sat on stumps and arctic terns screeched overhead.  The remains of a huge tanner crab lay scattered over the sand.

After suitable contemplation, I turned up river and walked about a mile in the middle of the channel, up to the first bend in the river.  On the way back I retraced the footsteps of a young brown bear at the edge of the beach (see photo below) and looked (without success) for mink and otter.

I didn’t accomplish much on this trip, tidying up the area around the lodge and inventorying my lumber.  Much of the time I spent sitting on the porch looking out over the inlet, watching birds and reading in the sunshine (or shivering when the sun ducked behind a cloud).  A buzz by a hummingbird inspired me to fill my new feeder.  Less than half an hour later, a male showed up, followed by at least two females.  All afternoon a steady stream of hummers came by, feeding with a certain urgency and perching on the current bushes nearby after feeding (see photos below).  Flocks of bright yellow Wilson’s warblers came and went along with pine siskins, Lincoln’s sparrows, Steller’s jays, and others.  Nearer the water, yellowlegs flew in and out and I followed a flock of semi-palmated plovers and sandpipers down the beach (see photo below).

At around 4:00 I left the homestead and headed into a frenzy of activity.  A whale was feeding in Gilbert Bay accompanied by mew, Bonaparte’s, and glaucous-winged gulls, Arctic terns, Pacific and common loons, marbled murrelets, and common murres.  I passed two more whales on the way out and checked to see that the world’s perfect eagle nest in the entrance was active (perfect for human viewing, that is).  An adult sat on a branch next to the nest, so I’m hopeful.

As soon as I rounded the corner into Stephen’s Passage, the swells kicked up into steady 3-4 footers from the Southeast and I fought to make my way far enough into them to turn and put them behind me.  Better than bucking them, to be sure, but I was weary of fighting the water almost before I got started and had fantasies about holing up in Taku Harbor for the night.  The sun blazed down on the wind-whipped water and forced me to find shelter under a hat or risk a worse sunburn than I got.  The swells followed me all the way into Gastineau Channel.

And that’s it.  Not too exciting an adventure this time.

   

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