“August in Minnesota” has a connotation to it for those who have lived here long enough. Hot, sticky, humid days boost electricity bills as air-conditioners stay on full time to beat the heat. A result of the moist conditions is heavily dewed grass in the mornings. I stepped outside and thick fog hung in the air. It was 7:00 AM, and the sun was beginning to burn through the mist with some filtered reds and oranges. A large moon hung high in the sky, and my truck passed under it on my way to our land in Butler, Minnesota. Pulling up, I unlocked the gate and pushed it open. Dew hung heavy on the grass and bejeweled thousands of spider webs across the 30 acre pasture. In a few moments I had my camera in hand as I passed through the knee high grass.
Many of us have a location that we’ve visited many times, and a stop there brings back many important memories for us. For these spots, there are peak experiences when conditions or moments are at their best. This sweaty, August morning was one of those for me. The foggy sunrise catalyzed the transformation of the scene from dewy, shadowed pasture to a hot, new day. As it did so I tried to capture the beauty of the morning dew on the webs and flowers that it encrusted in shiny droplets. Some of the spider webs had drops so large and heavy that they reflected the world over-and-over while dragging their grass pylons down around them with their collective weight. I feared a slight wind would cause them to drop off before I was done.
The sun rose higher and I turned my meandering around; I was headed south but turned to heading north. I passed along the edge of the grassland and sank below a small rise. As I came over the top hill my eye caught movement and then the body of a deer. The deer (Odocoileus virginianus) was a small fawn accompanied by its mother. Somehow I had caught the attention of the fawn only, and the mother continued to graze. His curiosity got them best of him, and he started to walk towards to me. I stood post-like with camera clicking. By the time the fawn was satisfied that something wasn’t-quite-right he stood 10 yards away. The mother had moved silently up the hill and stood about 20 yards away to contemplate me too. Finally she stomped a foot, snorted, and brought her offspring into the shelter of the woods.
My conclusion to you is this : every day is a new day, and you can only go enjoy what you go to see. If you have a favorite spot, I challenge you to go experience that location when it is at its best.
The sunrise begins to pierce through the mist, and illuminated this ditchful of black-eyed susans (Rudbeckia hirta)The large dew drops on this spider web performed the function of thousands of magnifying glasses. Each water drop magnified within itself the unfolding sunrise beyond.The collected dew on this spider was was so heavy that the grass bent under its weight. Already the sun was high in the sky and drying the landscape out.A Meadow Goat’s Beard (Tragopogon pratensis) holds on to dew drops in the morning.A honey bee flies up to sip on the nectar of mullen (Verbascum thapsus) flowers. The honey bees on our land are a great asset for pollination!This dragonfly was too cold and wet to escape, so he perched waiting for the sun’s warmth.A monarch caterpillar clings on to a milkweed.These orb weaver spiders were very common in the pasture. Although I did not capture it in this image, they weave an incredible zig-zag patterns into their web called a stabilimentum. The patterns reflect UV light and are thought to attract prey.
A young white-tailed deer steps forward to get a look at me. Unable to quite decided if I was dangerous or not.
The mother of the young buck scopes me out after being alerted by her offspring.
This young white-tailed deer buck ended up within 10 yards from me in his quest to figure out what I was.
The white-tailed fawn is scouting me out here from about 18 yards away.
Getting a bit closer! This white tailed deer comes forward to check on me.
Alaska is famous for its rivers which fill with salmon each summer. Each species comes at an expected time, first the kings (chinoook), then the reds (sockeye), and finally the silvers (coho) and pinks. Anglers throughout the state pursue them by boat, rod-and-reel, and nets depending on the location and intent. A specific section of the Alaska fishery is deemed a “personal use fishery”. Even more so than other fishing regulations, harvest in these regions is meant to fill freezers for the upcoming winter. Alaskan residents are allowed to use a variety of nets on poles to harvest up to 25 salmon each.
Chitina River is a 112 mile tributary of the Copper River. As of July 28th, 2015, 1,341,545 sockeye salmon had made the run upriver (adfg.alaska.gov)!! The abundance of fish attracts hundreds of fishermen each day. The Chitina River is highly braided and variable in depth, and flows out of the Wrangell-St. Elias National Park from the Chitina Glacier. Because of the glacier melt, the water is chocolaty brown all year. Chitina drainage is a truly rugged and beautiful area; the banks of the river are renowned by the anglers who walk down them for their steepness.
This picture captures the scale of the river size and the sheer banks of the Chitina River. It also shows off the turbid, chocolate-brown water.Looking far up the Chitina River from the bluffs along O’Brien Creek Road
The Technique
I had a lot to learn before hitting the trail to the river. I was lucky that on a Friday evening it was packed wall-to-wall with fisherman. Most were standing around recounting the action of the day, cleaning fish, or planning for the next morning. I heard a group of four guys giving out tips to a fifth guy standing with them, and inched in to listen and then ask a few questions. The first thing the leader of the group emphasized was safety. Fishing in the “canyon” can be particularly treacherous due to the steep walls. Many fisherman choose to tie themselves to the rocks when fishing the canyon. Second, be ready to stay out for awhile because the fish come in pulses based on the flow of the water among other factors. Last thing was to find an eddy behind a bolder or point where the current was headed back up stream. Placing your net in the swirling, upstream current ensured it stayed open for passing fish using the eddy as an energetic rest-stop. Visibility was 0 inches due to the turbid waters from melting glaciers, so it was necessary to wait for the “bump” which signified a fish in the net. As he described the bump I could only hope I would know what he meant the next day.
The eddy behind this boulder proved a perfect eddy. As you can see my net is facing up river (the current is flowing from left to right).The hoop on the net is pretty large, and I bottomed out in the river. This eddy provided only two fish while I stayed there.
The Result
Early in the morning we skittered down the steep banks of the Chitina River. I picked an eddy that seemed fitting, and as I dipped my net in the water its pocket billowed out perfectly. I perched expectantly on the shore and leaned lightly on the net to keep it turned open in the rushing current. As it turned out the bump was pretty distinct! Although I could not see the salmon swim into the net, I could imagine its nose hitting the mesh, it becoming disorientated, and lying flat in the mesh bag as it was pushed sideways by the swift current. It was at that moment that I raised the net out of the water to catch my first sockeye from the Chitina. It only took 7 minutes from the time I started fishing, and I had visions of completing my 25 fish limit quickly! However, the second piece of advice became very evident to me as I stood on the banks of the river. The fish only trickled into my net, and then after 4 stopped completely. I did not catch another for the entire day.
The personal use fishery at Chitina River allows you to literally scoop them from the raging waters.A great looking Sockeye scooped from the cold waters of the Chitina River!My first salmon from the Chitina River!
After two days of fishing I ended with seven beautiful sockeye salmon, and although I did not “catch my limit”, I felt very grateful and blessed to be able to partake in this unique, Alaskan fishery! As important as it is to put what you need away for the winter, it is important to save a couple for the grill too! These fresh salmon on the grill with lemon pepper and olive oil, and grilled sweet potatoes was as good as it gets, and a gratifying way to celebrate a successful trip to the Chitina River.
Sockey on the grill with olive oil, lemon pepper and a bit of salt. Side of sweet potatoes!Total time for this salmon on the grill is ~ 13 minutes. 8 minutes on the meat side to keep the moisture in and then 5 minutes on the skin side to finish cooking it!
You never know what you will see when you leave Seward Harbor, but with blue skies and calm seas our hopes were high for a remarkable trip. Our trip last year on this same boat, and captained by the same crew had been truly memorable!
We reached the open ocean at the edge of Resurrection Bay about 20 miles outside of Seward harbor, and immediately recognized based on an enormous flock of gulls and sea-birds that something special was happening in front of us. Of course, the many tails of humpback whales emerging from the water was a good tip too! As we carefully approached the scene the captain explained that we were observing “bubble-net feeding” of a large group (~18) humpback whales. This behavior has only been recorded consistently around Seward for about five years, as apparently many of the whales had taught it to each other. Observing from the water surface, it is hard to imagine the underwater pandemonium of bubble-net feeding. In the deep waters under a large school of bait fish all 18 whales were blowing bubbles in synchrony to herd the bait ball into one group. Once corralled, all of the whales ascended to the surface with their huge mouths agape to scoop up as many fish as possible. From the surface we were able to predict the timing and location of each emergence, because the flock of hundreds of seabirds would lift up high into the sky, before diving on the susceptible fish just before the whales broke the surface!
Our boat drifted silently with the engines turned off, and as the whales came up for the fifth time under the baitfish the flock of tell-tale gulls began to fly straight towards our boat! It was going to be a close encounter!! Sure enough, enormous mouths attached to up to 80,000 pounds and 80 feet of whale broke through the surface near the boat in a show that left me shaking. Not from fear, but rather sheer awe-struck wonder. I simultaneously snapped imagery of the incredible scene and watched each wonder unfold. I was too busy taking imagery to record video of the whales breaking the surface, but have chained together a series of images in the video below that demonstrate the behavior of bubble-net feeding. Be sure to listen to the incredible sounds they make while on the surface!
I was fortunate enough to have my camera point in the same spot, and set up for a quick burst of shots. It allow me to catch the graceful ark of this full breach! It is likely that this humpback whale was celebrating a successful day of feeding and hunting.
Mammals
The humpback whales were just the start of a remarkable series of wildlife sightings. A first of my life was the killer whales. A large pod of them traveled along and breached frequently for air exposing their fin and distinct white eyepatch. The dominant male of the group was evident thanks to an especially large dorsal fin. Baby orcas surfaced directly behind their mothers as they were still dependent them for protection, and to learn from. We spotted many sea otters throughout Ressurection Bay and along the coast. The story of their recovery is remarkable. Sea otters were extirpated from much of their traditional range by exploiting Russian and American hunters. Their loss led to the collapse of kelp beds as urchins populations, a diet item of the sea otter, expanded and ate of the kelp hold fasts (their roots). Once protected by federal law, the recolonization of sea otters helped reestablish the kelp communities and repair a crucial underwater ecosystem for small fish, and many invertebrates.
This sea otter was found cracking a clam in the Seward Harbor before we departed.
Sea otters are iconic creatures of the Resurrection Bay.
The enormous mouth of a mature humpback whale opens as it breaches the surface.
A humpback whale finishes it ascent through the baitfish school by breaking the surface, mouth agape. The gulls all around were waiting for the scrambled fish.
This humpback whale showed off a spurt of energy in a triumphant jump into the air. A full breach!
We were not the only boat watching the feeding frenzy. This image puts into perspective the size of the fluke!
As we moved further out of Resurrection Bay we encountered a pod of Killer Whales! The dominant male was demarcated by a large fin and led the pod.
The progress of the killer whales was quick, and water splashed from their fins as they breached for air.
Near northwestern glacier harbor seals use icebergs as resting haul-outs and to raise pups.
A large group of harbor seals shares a flow of ice.
A large flow of ice holds several harbor seals and is set against the foggy islands of the distant Chiswell Islands.
During the day we found several groups of stellar sealions – the groups of composed of one dominant male and the much smaller females. These two females rested on a rock ledge shrouded in fog.
Birds
The Chiswell Islands provide important breeding habitat and refugia for many sea birds. Puffins, murres, kittiwakes, and dozens of other species are found throughout their rocky crags where they escape predation risk. Many of the species that nest in the rocky crags of the cliffs are classified as “pelagic birds”. These birds only come to shore to breed, and spend the rest of their life at sea. It is remarkable to me that little of their ocean life is understood, although it is clearly an important part of their life history and hence conservation. One incredible fact from the trip’s crew : common murres may dive up 600 feet in search of food! The images below are just a small cross-section of the birds were observed along the way.
Tufted Puffins are a distinct and charismatic bird. Their large eyebrows stretch over their head in a very peculiar way!
Although a bit slow with the shutter speed, I like the image of this flying tufted puffin because it highlights their beautiful beak and face.
This image of a tufted puffin was taken the day before at the aviary of the Alaska Sea Life Center- A remarkable bird!
This group of parakeet auklets was a treat. They are aptly name – their chatter sounds very much like parakeets!
On the sheer rock faces we were lucky to be shown these thick-billed murres. A lifer for the trip!
In contrast to the thick-billed murres, these common murres do not have a white line behind their bill.
Named for the distinct feather that reached above their eye, a horned puffin takes flight near the Chiswell Islands.
This image of a horned puffin taken the previous day at the Alaska Sealife Center demonstrates its namesake beautifully! The horned extension above the eye is striking!
Scenery
The bluebird skies of the day blessed us for the nearly the entire trip. However, as we moved away from Northwestern Glacier, a thick bank of fog moved in from the ocean. The damp air made the day cooler, and provided a mystical backdrop to the Chiswell Islands which poked in and out of the fog like chandeliers in a smokey bar. The islands created a partial barrier to the fog which flowed through the lowest points of the islands like a sinewy serpent. Subsequently, the fog established the base of some of my favorite scenery images throughout the day, and featured below.
As we pulled out of Seward harbor the bluebird skies were stunning!
This panoramic shot really captures the setting of the Chiswell Islands. Characteristic of the islands, bright green tops and trees were seperated from the water by a gray band of rock.
Our boat the “Viewfinder” moved past the mainland with the Northwestern Glacier Behind us.
We threw a big wake as the Viewpoint moved to a new location.
As we rounded Granite Island and moved towards to the Northwestern Glacier I captured this panorama across our bow. Brilliant blue skies!
Cataract falls spilled down this large headwater and was fed by a snow/glacial field above.
As we moved back onto the open ocean, heavy fog rolled in from the ocean. Although this island blocked much of the fog, it still spilled through the lowest point of the island like a living creature.
The vertical cliff faces of the Chiswell Islands are often near to each other creating small pasages. I was struck by the lone tree to the upper right of this one, and the fog that lit the scene. I was fortunate to click the shutter as a gull took off far above.
Many of the Chiswell Islands have broad rock arches like the one displayed here.
Several groups of harbor seals float in front of the face of this tidewater glacier near the Northwestern Glacier.
The Northewestern Glacier spill from the Harding Ice Field into the ocean. The “calving” of this glacier, and others in the bay provide the icebergs for the harbor seals.
As whales-of-a-tales go, I’ve stuck to the facts of the day, although so much of was above average that even I feel that it’s a tale of whoppers. It was the type of trip that every subsequent trip to the ocean will be relative to. Perhaps I will tie it someday, but it would take a Moby Dick sized whale of a day to beat it!
I arrived back at the car from after a couple of hours hiking around on Matanuska Glacier, and my clothes were still wet. Although the day on the glacier had been beauty-filled and grand, I had learned a steep lesson on glacier safety.
We reached Matanuska Glacier just as the sun was starting to come out again. During the drive up the Matanuska Valley the sun illuminated the mountains that rose high on each side, and the Matanuska river lay below us along the curvy, Glenn Highway. As we stood in the parking lot we could see a 4 mile-wide swath of ice at the front of the glacier called the terminal moraine. From there the glacier stretched back over 26 miles into the mountains! We walked down the safest path of firm glacial silt and ice, which was marked by orange cones. In a few more minutes we stepped onto the full glacier.
Hindsight is always 20/20, which is why I now realize that stepping away from the orange cones which marked the “safe trail” was more risky than I previously thought. In a quest for images I moved through the ice hills of the glacier looking for pools of water to shoot reflection shots from. I walked through ankle deep, sticky mud towards higher ground where the glacier had deposited a gravel pile. From there I stepped to the edge of some flowing water, stuck out my toe to test the depth of the water, and immediately slipped off the ice edge and into the water. I never hit bottom!! The flowing water had cut a deep, deep pool which I now found myself in up to my shoulders. During the fall I was fortunate to have turned myself around quickly, so I put my elbows up on the edge of the glacier and pulled myself back out. In the fall my camera and tripod fell into a pile of glacial silt, and fortunately not into water with me. The incident lasted only a few seconds before I was back on solid ground and moving quickly away from that deep pool. I stripped off my wet shirt for warmth, used it to begin cleaning my camera, and shook a bit as the adrenaline set in.
What is particularly annoying (to me) and perturbing about the situation, is that I was not doing any unnecessarily risky. In fact, when I slipped in I was testing the water before stepping in. So, I’m now asking you to learn from me – test unknown and murky pools with a long stick, rather than a short toe!
Aside from a scrape with death, our day at Matanuska Glacier was remarkable. The gallery and images below details the gigantic ice face as well as the tiny details of the glacier.
Striations in this piece of ice caught Kassie’s eye, and the lighting sealed the deal. I love this image of a glacial ice cube.The face of the glacier was carved in interesting ways. This up-close shot looks at the melting ice on its surface.These large rocks melted rapidly, providing a brilliant blue window into the glacier.This panoramic image looks back at the glacier, and down the headwaters of the Matanuska River.
A small rivulet of water pours into a crevasse.
The glacier till in this picture is created by the glacier as it grinds the river valley down.
The blue ice of the peaks of the Matanuska Glacier lit up as the sun came out.
A valley of ice holds a small pond of water on the Matanuska Glacier.
A semipalmated plover feeds in the glacial till and among the ice cubes of the Matanuska Glacier.The end of a happy day at Matanuska Glacier!
By the time we reached Galbraith Lake, North Slope, Alaska, the low light of the solstice sun to the north was casting shadows on the peaks of the Brooks Range, which finally lay to the south of us after hours of driving. Although rain showers had passed through earlier in the day, the lingering clouds were just cotton in the sky, lit to the orange color of hot coils of a stove. Our trip was planned for three days, and our mantra was to have “nowhere to be, and all day to get there”! We observed, absorbed, and enjoyed the birds, flowers, and beauty of the Tundra during solstice. Due to the many photos from the trip, the results will be broken into two chapters, “Solstice, Solitude, Soliloquy”, and “Birds and Blossoms of the Tundra”. I hope you enjoy this first installment!
During the day we drove the Haul Road to various hiking destinations. A creek bed, a bird sighting, or a nice pull-off were all excuses to hike around and check out a new region. Although the road was busy with traveling semi-trucks and tourists, as soon as you walked away from the road the solitude was immediate. Few others hike around on the tundra at this time of the year, and its vast expanse ensures that even if they do, you do not have to see them unless you choose to. Since creek beds offer a natural hiking corridor through and around ankle twisting tundra humps, tussocks, we used them often. The small, bubbling rivers bottoms flowed through rockfields created by spring melts, and were just a fraction of their size during the melt a few weeks prior. However, flow was higher than normal for the time of year, as a snow storm just 10 days earlier fed them from the mountains. I was drawn to the colors and sizes of rocks on the stream beds, and the mountains behind them which birthed the running waters.
A small mountain stream runs out of the mountains south of Atigun Pass.The Haul Road runs over this stream, and is visible in this shot. Multple stream braids flowed into each other in small rapids.West of Atigun Gorge, this small pond is joined to Galbraith lake and reflected the still snow-covered peaks of the northern Brooks Range.The north edge of the Brooks Range was lit up each night in the low light of the midnight sun. What a scene!
At the end of each day we set up camp on the tundra, targeting soft patches of sphagnum moss for our sleeping pads. The mattress companies of the world should take note of the comfort of the tundra – it is unparalleled in soft-yet-supportive sleep. From our camp we took small hikes to check out the local flora and birds. The hikes always brought something new to see and experience. Near one of our camps we discovered this baby longspur (either a Smith’s or Lapland) on the tundra. It perched on the moss in the warm sun, and was likely waiting for food from its parent. Unable to escape, this baby bird’s instinct was to sit as still as possible. I snapped a few shots, and then stepped away so its parents could rejoin and feed it.
As we walked around each night I looked for settings to put up a solstice timelapse. The advantage of a timelapse over a single shot is to show the traveling path of the sun as it reaches the horizon and then curves back into the sky. Over the Brooks Range, being so far north, the sun stayed far above the horizon – it hadn’t dropped below the horizon there for over a month. This was in stark contrast to shooting at Finger Mountain about 15 miles south of the Arctic Circle where the sun just dipped below the curve of the earth. The resulting shots from each location have been fused together, and shown individually below. The lighting of the composite shots, in particular, I believe is very striking. Since each image is made of 8-10 shots over time, each plant has been lit from many angles. Because of this, extreme detail can be seen in each flower in the tundra foreground.
This solstice shot was shot June 21 – 22nd from Finger Mountain, about 7 miles south of the Arctic Circle. Smoke from the over 200 active wild fires in the state (at the time) came in from the south, staining the sky red.This composite timelapse shot was taken over 4.5 hours. Since this was shot just south of the Arctic Circle, the sun disappears behind the horizon at ~2AM.This solstice shot was taken from Galbraith Lake Campground. In the foreground, an Oeder’s Lousewort stands as a sundial.This composite makes the foreground of the tundra particularly epic. The small mountain avens that would be hid in a single shot really pop out when lit from many angles!
This solstice shot was taken June 20 – 21st, just west of Atigun gorge over camp for the night.
Our trip to the tundra was spectacular, but was not without its setbacks! Clouds of mosquitoes emerged about 10 PM each night, and were thick in the face, eyes, and back of the neck until we went to bed. However, during the night they receeded, and the mornings were quite pleasant again.Kassie, Jess and I at camp with the Brooks Range in the Background.
A trip to the Tundra will bring as much to experience as the eye can behold and the brain can perceive. I’m looking forward to the next chapter of birds and blossoms!
You never know what you will experience when you start into Denali National Park. I guess the beginner’s luck of my brother Sean and sister-in-law Jada, first time Park visitors, was what allowed us some of the magnificent views of Mount Denali. During my previous trips to the park I have never experienced the magnitude of the Mountain like we did. The first time we saw it from about 50-60 miles away the twin summits were fully exposed against blue bird skies, and it lay across a broad river valley. We crossed the valley and crested a rise which brought full views of the Mountain. The beauty and size of Denali simultaneously released endorphins and adrenaline which made me smile and babble about its incredible beauty. The significance of its name,the Great One, was evident!
A full panorama of Denali as seen from Eilson Visitor Center. I love this black and white transformation of this shot.Denali from Eilson Visitor Center. This shot captures well Mount Brooks and the foothills of Denali. Mount Brooks. Although Brooks is almost 12,000 feet it, it was dwarfed by the 20,000+ foot Denali!As we moved further into the park, clouds starting to form over Denali. The twin summits were slowly hidden from sight.A full view of Mount Brooks and Denali from Wonder Lake. Clouds had moved over the top of the mountain.The clouds formed quickly, obscuring the summitHere was our first view of Denali across a broad river valley. The far rise brought us to our first full (and spectacular) views of Denali!A common tundra alpine tundra flower, Narcisus Anenome, sits in front of the Great One. Wildflowers like these were everywhere in the park.The lucky group in our first opportunity to get a photo in front of Denali. From this point on the mountain continued to grow was we go closer and closer……And then we were a lot closer! The mountain stood far above all else!
As we sat and and soaked in the views of the Mountain from Wonder Lake Campground, I took advantage of the time by shooting a nice timelapse. It’s fascinating watching the clouds form over the peaks! Check it out here :
The water of wonder lake is very clear. The lake stretches for a couple miles and reaches over 300 feet deep. On it we found a nesting Common Loon.
Our entire trip was marked with fun wildlife sightings and remarkable beauty. In particular, wildflowers were found on each slope accenting the mountain scenery. Mountain Avens, One Flower Cinquefoil, Moss Campion and many others. Rather than write, I’ll let the captions and pictures speak for themselves on this one!
As we walked back along the Savage River trail, and group of bachelor bulls had moved across the trail. It was easily my best opportunities to see caribou to date!Although the caribou did not mind me much, this one was eyeing me up a bit. This shot gives you a great idea of how big those antlers are!One of these caribou is not like the others. I’m not talking about its coat, nose, or antlers. The middle one is wearing a collar! I’m not sure of the intent of this study, but he’s being monitored.Arctic ground squirrels are winter survival masters. Once hibernating, their heart rate slows, metabolism slows, and brain activity nearly ceases. However, they wake up once per month enough to re-establish brain activity before falling back into deep hibernation.Three ewe dall sheep perch on the cliffs below us near polychrome pass. This particular spot offered shade, and as always, the mountains protected them from terrestrial predators. Although safe from four-leggers, golden eagles are known to take the kids (lambs)!Hiking the ridgeline over Teklanika Campground. Endless scenery!At the end of the Savage River loop, the valley gorge pours over loose boulders. We found a natural bench and took advantage of it. I love this group shot!A small footbridge cross the Savage River as it flows down the gorge. Alaska scenery is the best!One-leaf cinquefoil in the alpine tundra of Polychrome Pass. The Polychrome Mountains in the distance were shrouded and beautiful!Alpine arnica are a common and beautiful flower in the rocky slopes and along the roads. We hiked to this ridgeline just a mile or two out of Teklanika Campground.As if the shrouded clouds weren’t enough, the moon appeared above the polychrome mountains. Can you pick it out?
This post starts from the first step up the bank of the the Porcupine River to Joe’s cabin. We were relieved to see the flood waters had not topped as far as the cabin, although plenty of water had still gone over bank-full height and flooded the lower terrace of his property. I hauled the gear from the boat as Joe set about opening the cabin.
Since there was no flood damage to be repaired, we started a leisurely existence at the cabin consisting of small projects (what Joe (and ironically my Dad) called “puttering”), eating, sleeping, and reading a book. Between sessions of tackling Alex Haley’s “Roots”, I went for birding walks around the cabin, and ventured into the local slough. As needed, we traveled a few miles upriver to a clear-water stream and filled five gallon pails full of water for filtering.
This peregrine falcon is a yearly nester in the cliff across from Joe’s cabin and through the years, the young chicks have learned to hunt from the treetops around the cabin.
This Chipping sparrow was a new bird for the cabin, and an unusual one for so far north.
The chipping sparrow sang its heart out and chased all other birds away from its perch.
A small pond behind the cabin was home to this green-wing teal
Beautiful and close looks at this green-wing teal were a treat!
American widgeon were very common along the river, their call of ‘”wee wee wee” was often heard just below the bank.
In Fort Yukon I was fortunate to capture this Northern Blue Butterfly perched on a Wild Sweet Pea
This cross fox is an unsual color phase! It’s actually just a red fox, but an incredible treat to see!
A shot of the cross fox checking me out.
White-crowned sparrows were a common bird. Every morning, all day, and all night a particularly vocal one would sing outside of the cabin.
A cliff nesting raven sits over it brood.
Blue bells are a common and beautiful flower in the region. Here they are also pictured with Jacob’s Ladder.
Yellow cedum on top of Wolf Point
One of the greatest lessons I learned on the trip came from Joe when he said “Just because you live in the Bush, doesn’t mean you have to do without”. Certainly over the years, through sweat, countless trips up the river and through the air, he and his wife had transformed the cabin into a home away from home. When living there permanently, the four garden plots just out the door provided fresh vegetables. A solar panel amply charged a battery pack in the cabin allowing for electric lights and a water pump for a shower. In fact, it was possible to take a steaming hot shower each day if one desired! A large kitchen, bedroom, eclectic and huge library, and centralized wood-stove made living there extremely comfortable!
This 360 degree panorama inside the cabin might be a big confusing, but take a while to look at it and appreciate how amazing it was!
The cabin was crafted by Joe and took four years to build. One year to cut the logs, strip the bark, and let the logs season. Another season to put up the walls and cut the lumber for the roof, and a couple more to finish the cabin entirely. All of the log-milling was completed with a chainsaw. For his first and last cabin, Joe did a perfect job. The cabin is in pristine condition, and I marveled at it a lot!
This outside shot of the cabin shows just some of it’s beauty and perfection!
Aside from birding and reading, I enjoyed the views of the river. Life on the river changed constantly. After the first couple of days the water receded enough that a prominent gravel bar emerged for the first time since the flood. A flock of twelve long-tailed ducks repeatedly flew up river and drifted down. Each cloudless night the moon rose over the far banks, and the low light of a mid-night sun lit up the bluffs across the river in orange and gold. Life was good on the banks of the Porcupine.
Low-light each night would light up the bluff across from the cabin in dramatic and beautiful light.Going to the bathroom was no drudgery at the cabin – this was the view from the outhouse door!
I did my best to capture video of life around the cabin. Throughout the days at the cabin I captured some timelapse and clips of wildlife. The music is pretty relaxing – you can check out the video here:
Although not all experiences in the bush need to be plush and care-free like this trip, I certainly have a new viewpoint that such an existence is even possible. Just because you live in the bush doesn’t mean you have to do without!
Delta enjoyed the leisure time as much as I did.Our cabin guard dog 🙂
I was excited to head far into the Alaskan bush by river to help a friend open his cabin for the season. Almost a week of packing led up to the Wednesday we were supposed to leave. However, when the middle day of the week arrived, high water reports from Fort Yukon and the Upper Porcupine River were ominous. Record snowfall in Old Crow, Yukon Territory, had swollen the giant river systems. They were far above travel-able levels, and over-flooded banks were pulling dangerous amounts of debris, ‘drift’, into the river. Our final destination was 220 river miles through the high water and drift of the Yukon and Porcupine Rivers, and the experienced judgement of Joe dictated that we would wait a few days before heading up to his cabin. Four days later the river had dropped to acceptable levels. It was go-time : the river was saying so!
Before I get into some of the stories of the trip. Come along on the trip with me by watching this video:
The notion of taking a boat far into the Alaskan bush is exciting! A long-time resident of the bush, Joe was anxious to open his cabin, and assess his estate because bears, humans, or weather can all impact an unoccupied cabin. The boat-trip up river started in Circle, Alaska on a cloudy day. As we headed downstream in the Yukon River, we quickly entered the Yukon Flats National Wildlife Refuge. This expansive refuge is critical, critical habitat for breeding waterfowl and birds. In fact, the refuge hosts 150 species of breeding birds from 11 countries, 8 Canadian provinces and 43 of the 50 states. That’s remarkable diversity!
This is Delta, our wonderful river dog companion!
The Yukon Flats is aptly named. As we cruised along in the boat, the shores were a steady patchwork of riparian habitat consisting of willows, birch, and spruces. There was no perceptable climb in elevation. The fast, high water of the river kept progress slow, and Captain Joe was constantly vigilant for pieces of drift. Three foot-long sticks and entire trees were coming down the river at the rate of several or more pieces per minute. Hitting a small branch may result in a dented prop, but a large stump could have ended the trip. By the time we reached Curtis Slough to stop for the night, the intense driving had drained Joe (and rightfully so!). Overall we made it about 135 river miles from Circle.
As you move along the river there are cabins dotted along the way. Some of them, such as this one provide permanent shelter year around for bush dwellers. Others are seasonal or may just provide shelter for passing travelers.An old cabin at “Schuman House”
We pulled into a small log cabin along the banks Curtis Slough, hoping to spend the night. The traditional landing was underwater, but I jumped ashore with the bow rope and headed to tie off to a nearby tree. I glanced at the cabin, and immediately saw that the plywood door had been torn in half; peeled back like the lid of a sardine can. “Hey Joe”, I stated, “A bear broke into the cabin, by tearing the door off”. “Ok, does it look fresh?”, he questioned. I assessed the raw wood in the torn door from 25 feet away and responded, “yup, sure does!”. By that time Joe had climbed up with Delta, our dog companion. Delta moved towards the cabin and sniffed the door; her demeanor immediately told us that it was a very fresh break in, and then I heard a can rattle from inside. The bear was still in the cabin! In two flicks of a lamb’s tail we were in the boat and headed across river to camp on a more desirable (bear free) gravel bar. Joe, knowing the owner of the cabin, made a satellite phone call to inform them of the situation. Remarkably, this bear encounter was the only one of the whole trip!
A dinner of marinated elk and potatoes overlooking the river.
Our one group shot for the trip, Joe and I sitting in camp.
This riverboat is a staple of travel up here. Flat bottomed and stable it stays high in the water.
Fallen trees in the water are known as “sweepers”. Although they are easy to dodge going upriver, they can make landing difficult in some areas.
A gorgeous sunrise. As you can see by the tilt in our boat, the high waters of the Porcupine River receded a lot over night leaving our boat partially high-and-dry.
Before going to bed, it was important to determine if the river was rising or falling. When we woke, the sticks we had placed at the waterline were not 12 inches above it – the river was dropping!
The next morning we continued up the Porcupine River, and moved out of the Yukon Flats and into the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge. The Arctic NWR is the largest piece of land in the refuge system, and home of the Porcupine Caribou Herd. No longer in the flats, we saw a mountain on the horizon! More significantly, that mountain was the beginning of the rocky ramparts which would line the river for the rest of our trip. The tall and colorful ramparts and bluffs of the Porcupine Rive were a welcome contrast to the Yukon Flats! As we moved through the landscape, the smile of enjoyment could not have been erased from my face by the spray of a skunk. The area was absolutely stunning; on a small scale, I was reminded of the Grand Canyon. Red, orange, and black rock walls rose high above the water. The bluffs held countless caves and spires shaped by wind, ice, and snow. The refuge of the high cliffs provided important nesting habitat. As we passed we noticed nests of golden eagles, ravens, and a peregrine falcon protected on all sides by the vertical rock faces.
The giant bluffs ahead obscured the rest of the river.
Deacon Rock, like many of the landmarks along the way, is a named and known place by the Gwich’in.
Deacon Rock as we moved by.
One of the first cliffs of the ramparts as you move up river.
The geology of the Ramparts was fascinating. Here you can see layers of rocks being pushed up from flows of lava – at least that’s my interpretation.
Large layers of rocks being pushed up, up, up!
The rampart cliffs just zipped on by in a continuous display of grandeur and beauty.
A content river dog.
Two hundred and twenty-two miles upriver we passed the final bluff across from Joe’s cabin. The boat swung around towards the opposite bank and soon I tied it off onshore. Already I felt connected to this beautiful region, and was excited to spend the next five days exploring it. The next chapter of cabin life to come soon!
Oh, and as one last, unrelated note the blog turned two on May 28th. Thank-you ALL for your continuing support. Your feedback, comments, and enjoyment of the material here is much appreciated!
The Alaska Songbird Institute has a goal for people during their second annual “Bird-a-thon” : find as many birds as you can within 24 hours in Alaska. We, team MRI (Madi, Ross, and Ian), decided to take the task seriously! We started our 24 hour window at 8:00 PM by birding a range of Fairbanks hot-spots. From there we headed south along the Richardson highway with the goal of making it Paxson to bird the Denali Highway – a 134 mile stretch of wetland potholes and alpine tundra chock-ful of birds.
May 15th was the first day the Denali Highway was officially open, and much of the Denali Highway’s tundra was still covered in snow due to 3000′ elevation gain. Because of the low-productivity of snow-covered areas, we targeted melt areas and ponds. There were many, many species of birds. Some of them, such as red-throated loons were still passing through to breed on lakes further north over the Brooks Range, using the Denali Highway region as a “stopover” until the ponds further north were ice free. But, the site was not a stopover for most. Many of the birds were there to make a nest and raise young in the 24 hour light. The tundra is the summer home of many species which are found in vastly different habitats during the winter. For instance, the long-tailed jaeger is an ocean bird. During the summer they nest in the tundra and eat berries and small rodents. Quite a change from the fish they traditionally consume! Wilson’s warbler migrate to South America, and arctic terns migrate to Antarctica (the longest animal migration). In fact, the Alaskan tundra is so unique and special that birds from six of the seven continents can be found on it. For those that see the tundra frozen in the winter, it is easy to forget the tundra is a highly valuable and necessary ecosystem!
Long-tailed Jaeger, check out that tail!
American Widgeon taking flight over the mountains
Wilson’s Warbler – one of my favorites!
A Willow Ptarmigan in front of the mountains
Cliff Swallow coming in for a landing!
White-crowned Sparrow showing off its namesake
A pair of Barrow’s Goldeneye. Such a beautiful duck!
A male Barrow’s Goldeneye – such an eye!
White-crowned Sparrow on the runway.
Lifer! Golden-crowned Sparrow 🙂
Aside from the birds, the scenery of the Denali Highway is never ending! The melting ponds and flowing rivers created a patchwork of light and dark across the land. To the north, the horizon was ragged like torn cloth with the mountains of the Alaska Range. In the twilight at 2:00 AM (because it no longer gets fully dark here), the Alaskan Range stabbed through the colors of the sunset and on bluebird days like the one we had its snow covered peaks starkly contrasted the thawing tundra and blue sky.
A sprawling mountain vista juxtaposed to the Denali Highway.
A beautiful lake and mountain scene. This lake held black scoters, a common loon, and surf scoters along with many species of waterfowl.
Just a beautiful view!
The sun sits high in the sky as we get closer to summer! Here’s a beautiful vista along the Denali Highway.
Perched up high on a hillside, we watched moose, caribou, and long-tailed jaegers from this particular position on the Denali Highway.
A piece of driftwood is set high and dry after the spring melt.
A shallow melt water stream pours of round boulders and rocks.
This panorama captures an active melt pond. The ice that was left concentrated many shorebirds and waterfowl in the open water.
In the twlight of the sun at ~2:00 Am the Alaska Range was lit up over Donnelly Creek.
Along with the birds, there was plenty of mammals to see. By the end of the trip we watched well over 20 moose and probably 30 caribou. Arctic ground squirrels fed along the roadsides, and frolicked across the snow. The young animals of spring are out and about, and we enjoyed watching a red fox kit chew on some grass outside of its den after we returned to Fairbanks.
A herd of caribou navigate around a pond with the expanse of the tundra behind them.A mother moose and her yearly calf browse on new growth of willow.Two bull caribou lounge about in velvet antlers.This fox kit was a joy to watch. You can tell by the smooth walls of this den that they have spent quite a bit time going in and out.
So, bringing it back to where it all started, why go birding for 24 hours straight? It seems that it might be a bit crazy (for instance getting about 3-4 hours of sleep). To understand that, you simply have to understand what I believe birding is. Birding is a chance to observe the natural environment either individually or with friends. An opportunity to go birding with a two great friends (we rock, MRI!) in a place as remote and diverse as Interior Alaska is a moment to relax and learn something new (essentially a guarantee); it should not be passed up. Even if observing wildlife is not for you, my definition of “birding” can be modified to fit almost any hobby. Don’t pass up opportunities to learn and be with good friends. After 24 hours, we identified 68 species of birds; a pretty remarkable list and I cannot wait until next year’s Bird-a-thon!
Here’s the list of observed species during team MRI bird-a-thon. 68 species in 24 hours! Ironically we did not turn up a black-capped chickadee – very ironic considering they are a classic species of Alaska.
Well folks, this post is officially #100 on this blog. A huge thank-you to all who have supported me and followed in my growth as a writer and photographer! It’s amazing to go back to old posts and reflect on how this site has changed. Some things have not changed much; it is still my mission and joy to bring you photography of wildlife, landscapes, and adventure, and couple some science along with it! Have a favorite moment on this blog from the last 100 posts? I would love if you left it in the comments below! Don’t worry – this site won’t be going away anytime soon 🙂
Early this afternoon I was being pulled by six eager sled dogs. Trails had been degraded and made icy by the recent 50 degree temperatures, and the sled which normally has some drag in snow, slid like it was on Teflon behind the twenty-four turning legs. The excited dogs would have fun as fast as I allowed. Of course my preservation of self made sure to reign in their energy; dumping a sled on these crystallized trails hurts more than on the snow! My sleeves were rolled back and my ungloved hands gripped onto the handle of the sled. The passing breeze did not even feel cold in the 55 degree temps. Leaning around turns and dodging spruce trees, I made my way along the fire break of Old Murphy Dome. Not a cloud was in the sky as we passed impressive vistas stretching to the north. In the distance, the snow of the White Mountains was starkly white against the tree covered hills of the lower foothills.
I passed by Jeff, who had stopped his team in front of me. He wanted me to practice passing another team, and commands of “Gee”, “Alright”, and “On-by” ensured that the leaders knew to keep moving past the other team of stopped dogs. We practiced the procedure a couple more times. Over the winter Jeff has done a great job getting me comfortable with the sled, and teams. It was important to practice passing for our upcoming trip to the White Mountains. More dog-sledding adventures will be reported I return from Crowberry Cabin!
We made several stops along the way to help cool the dogs down. The warm spring temperatures are a dramatic change to the -30 degree temperatures only three weeks ago! Each time the dogs would dive into the snow banks, and push their faces into it. Their panting faces were obviously smiling. It was a beautiful and great day to be a dog or a driver. I did my best to capture their doggy-grins and the excitement of the day. I hope you enjoy!
Dome and Sooner take a quick break under the bluebird conditions. With the warm temps, I’m sure there is an advantage to being a white dog!
The following series of George captures his antics as he cools down in the snow. He looks like one happy pooch!
George cools down and gives me the big eye while straining against his tug line.
George grins for the camera.
Maybe my favorite picture of the day! I love the faces of George and Hera in this shot. Happy Dogs!
Hard to beat the scenery when while on break!
A wider view of the surrounding area and dog team. Such a wonderful day!
Leaning back and taking a picture of the action as we head along the trail!
