I hesitate to name this chapter “Rain” with the prescient knowledge that constant downpours will no doubt follow on subsequent trips. However, I could find no other overriding theme to the weekend (fellow Juneauites enjoying the weather will know what I mean). So, on to the story—it’s a long one, and not very exciting, so feel free to just enjoy the photos.

The shell of the lodge building (the one that is meant to be a dining/eating/lounging facility) was completed last summer with the help of friends and family. It sat all winter with a tarp over the porch to protect the cedar and no doors or windows or covers over the gable ends. Last week I cajoled my carpenter friend Rob into coming down to install doors and windows and to sit around a campfire for a night. Friday morning we met up at the Douglas boat ramp, I in my 17’ skiff and he in his 22’ aluminum boat accompanied by his wife Stacey and daughter Hope. It was the second time I’d launched the boat myself (meaning I was driving the car) and I was grateful that the Carpenters didn’t show up until after I was nearly through making a fool out of myself. My parents thankfully donated their truck to the endeavor, as I am currently truck-less.

A squall kicked up as we were launching and the seas in front of Sandy Beach were squirrelly and unpleasant. Taku Inlet was no better, with three foot swells kicked about by the wind; I pounded away in the wake of Rob’s boat, gritting my teeth, watching my skiff flex under the stress, and cursing Taku Inlet in my head. By the time we reached Port Snettisham I was grumpy, about three inches shorter from all the pounding, and the brace holding up my left windshield had broken. And we drove right into a rainstorm that lasted all weekend.

Inside the Port, the seas calmed down a bit (and so did I) and I cruised by the sea lion haulout to find about 40 animals remaining (the rest have headed out for breeding rookeries on the outer coast). Loons, murres, and murrelets were everywhere on the water, and a great blue heron waited at the edge of the sand bars above the homestead. About 60 seals bobbed together in the water to greet us where the river sand dropped off into the deep.

Friday afternoon, Rob and I planed down a section of the beam beneath the back door with a rented power planer until the siding fit flush (the beam was a bit wide). He busied himself installing doors while Stacey and I, with some assistance, leveled and nailed in the windows. The rain was a steady downpour, sliding off the roof and landing in cold drops on the backs of our necks as we worked. While Stacey and Rob finished up at the lodge, Hope and I made a little fire back at the “dry” campsite in the woods on the point. Much as I wanted to use the new fire pit down at the lodge, the rain forced us elsewhere. Even so, the drops were steady as we sat around the blaze, drinking and cooking hot dogs and beans (see photo to right).

After a pleasant night listening to the rain on the metal roof, I got up and walked down to the lodge, less than inspired by the driving rain and the foggy inlet. I spent a few hours sitting on the porch looking over the inlet until the Carpenters decided to go home and dry off. Rob headed out in the kayak and brought the boat as close to shore as possible in the falling tide (some 100 feet from dry land). I drug myself out of my reverie and started to help haul their gear down to the boat, waiting at the water’s edge while the others waded out (they wore hip waders). Suddenly I realized they weren’t so much loading gear as pushing on the boat, which was suddenly caught on the sand by the falling tide. After watching them struggle for a bit, I steeled myself for the cold water and waded in to help. For those of you unfamiliar with tides in SE Alaska, you have to act fast if it’s against you. A few minutes to change clothes likely would have cost them the tide.

Grimacing from the cold, I shouldered and lifted the boat with the others. We moved it a good two feet over the sand before all efforts failed. Stacey suggested spinning it around until the bow pointed to deep water. Amazingly, this seemed to do the trick and we were able to laboriously slide it a few feet at a time into deeper water. Stacey stayed with the boat to keep it afloat while Rob and I finished hauling gear. Happier than I had been all weekend, I said a prayer of thanks to the wilderness gods for waking me up, giving me a bit of adventure, and freezing me to the bones in the pouring rain. Really, it was great.