Close Encounters

Thursday (5/22)

Only one day left until the big weekend. Campers have been pulling in all day, and the Nancy Lake and South Rolly campgrounds are filling up fast. Last night Jacob and I hiked out to Red Shirt Lake, which is in the park’s backcountry. Red Shirt isn’t accessible by road, so visitors that rent one of our four Public Use Cabins (PUCs) on the lake have to hike in their gear. And two of the cabins are located on islands in the middle of the lake, so some must make the second leg of their trip by boat. But it’s a beautiful area, and the three mile hike in takes you through some nice bits of forest and past some gorgeous vistas. Tom is the volunteer host for Red Shirt Lake; he stays in a waterfront cabin and maintains the PUCs throughout the summer. Not a bad job.

Today was spent installing buoys near the boat launch at Nancy Lake. With Keith, the head ranger for Nancy Lake SRA and Willow Creek SRA, Jacob and I set out in a Parks boat for a day on the water. Though we didn’t plan on spending all day installing the buoys, a few complications arose (missing hardware, frayed wires and runaway buoys) which (luckily) gave us reason to remain at the lake from around 11am-3:30pm. It was like a day off, really—the weather was beautiful and a cool Alaskan zephyr kept us comfortable. Keith pointed out a Red-Necked Grebe (Podiceps grisegena), a duck-like bird that builds a floating nest near the lake shore in summer. An Arctic Tern (Sterna paradisaea) took a pass over our heads; these seabirds winter as far south as Antarctica, their annual migration approaching 22,000 miles. That makes my trip from NC seem like nothing.

Tuesday (5/27)
The days pass quickly here, despite the sunlight lingering long into the evening. Friday night I passed Tom, the Red Shirt Lake volunteer host, as he was rushing to his car. He had received word of a family emergency and was leaving that night. As we were down one camp host on our busiest weekend of the year, the next morning I volunteered to spend my days off (Sunday and Monday) as a temporary Red Shirt host. But don’t let my honorable act seem too altruistic—I couldn’t think of a better place to spend my weekend.

The view from the front porch of the Red Shirt Cabin

I had a waterfront cabin all to myself, use of a jon boat and canoe and a large stock of dry firewood, which was hard to come by after it rained all day Saturday. So I hiked in Saturday night and hiked out this afternoon, carrying along with my gear an eager desire to return.

After falling asleep by the lullaby of the loon Saturday night, I awoke Sunday morning to a bright sunrise out of my loft window. Quickly building a fire outside (there was still a deep chill in the air), I cooked up a batch of grits (I’m surprised they even sell them up here). I walked through the campsites and greeted a father and his three sons who had hiked in the night before. Only two other tents were set up; I think the rain the day before had prevented some from making the trek out to the lake. Returning to the cabin, I set out in the canoe for a brief trip around the north end of Red Shirt, which is largely undeveloped, with most of the residential properties located on the southern half. After my venture I returned to find a family having lunch on the picnic table in my front yard. Though this area isn’t designated for public use, I didn’t bother them about it and chatted briefly. Moments later things got a little interesting. One young lady was making her way to the outhouse when she screamed, “Oh my God! There’s a bear up here!” and promptly locked herself in the privy. Assuming my role as the wilderness expert (read: one with no experience), I ran into the house to get a cooking pot and a spoon to make some noise and scare off the bear. Walking slowly up the path to the outhouse, I spoke in a calm, firm voice to the bear, which I couldn’t see yet, while banging the spoon on the pan. When I arrived at the crest of the hill, I saw a mother Black Bear (Ursus americanus) at the base of a white spruce tree, where 20 feet up sat her cub.

Scarlett

Bartholomew Johnson relinquishing his lofty post
(Sorry he's hard to see; I couldn't get too close to the cub, as momma bear
would have taken great offense to my approach)

They were about 75 feet from the outhouse. I told the girl to walk slowly down the trail while I kept an eye on the pair, as the mother looked at me lazily as if to say “Would you please stop that racket? It’s really quite annoying.” I complied and walked back down the trail myself. The girl and her family speedily left the scene, and I walked through the campsites informing all the campers of the sighting and asking them to be extra aware. I then returned, and for the sake of all of you, grabbed my camera and made my way back to the privy, where Scarlett and Bartholomew Johnson (I had to name them) were playing peacefully after the cub’s safe return from the tree. The mother did not seem to mind my presence, and proved to be somewhat of a prima donna.

That night Jacob and I went to our friends’ house for dinner. Ryan and Leanne were the winter volunteer hosts at Nancy Lake and now live in the area, where Leanne maintains employment with the Parks. Ryan is the one who sifted through all the applications for the summer volunteers and luckily, he chose me. On the menu was enchiladas, which were delicious, and after dinner Leanne took us for a tour of the dog yard. She works with Bill, a dog breeder and racer, and 30 yards from her home are the houses of more than 80 Alaskan racing dogs (they each have their individual quarters). These are not the long distance Iditarod Huskies you’re used to seeing—they are bred for speed, and are short-haired, small and lean. (And well bred, too--Bill is considered one of the top three dog racers in the world.) Our hands thoroughly slobbered upon, we then went to see the newborn pups, who were still with their mothers. There can’t be many things cuter than six furry, palm-sized puppies with half-closed eyes lying in a huddle next to their gently nuzzling (and surely completely exhausted) mother. (Sorry; didn’t have my camera on me). I went home missing my dog Ginger more than ever.

Monday morning my slumber was interrupted by some pesky camper coming onto my front porch, or so I thought. After hearing repeated thumps and footfalls, I made my way groggily downstairs to catch the rear end of Scarlett traipsing down my front steps. She wasn’t happy with her earlier photo shoot, I guess. But failing to wake me up successfully for a few portrait retakes, she settled for some shots of her other end. She is quite the cheeky lass.

This morning Chris and Jacob picked me up at the Red Shirt trailhead as the work week started again. On our way out to the highway, we saw a moose with her two calves; Chris said they couldn’t be more than one month old. Later in the day we were clearing a downed tree from the road when we looked up to see three bald eagles soaring high overhead. Chris said it looked as if one was a juvenile (remember, the young eagles don’t have the distinctive white head), and hypothesized that we were looking at a mom and dad teaching their eaglet to fly. A bit like riding a bike, I guess.

I know I posted a shot of Denali in the last post, but I couldn't let you miss this sunset

Cry of the Loon

Denali, the tallest mountain in North America at 20,320 ft, can be seen from my kitchen window
This photo was taken at sunset as a few clouds wisped in front of the peak

Saturday (5/17)

Vic picked us up at 9am this morning and we went off to Willow Creek SRA, where we did some maintenance on three public use pump wells and picked up trash along the trails and in the campsites. Before we started, Jacob and I were down by the river when we heard a loud swoosh swoosh, and we looked up to see an eagle taking off from the top of a spruce tree about twenty feet away from us. It was either a juvenile Bald Eagle (Haliaeetus leucocephalus) or a Golden Eagle (Aquila chrysaetos)—a young Bald Eagle lacks the distinguishing white head of its elders, and is easily confused with the similarly brown Golden Eagle. Hopefully I’ll catch a glimpse of another one of these raptors when I have my camera with me.

Willow Creek is best known for its trout and salmon fishing; the park is right alongside the Susitna River. When the King Salmon start their trip up the river in a few weeks the park will be completely full with those casting for the big one—Kings (also called Chinooks) can weigh up to 100 pounds. During this period these fishermen will participate in what’s known as “combat fishing,” where hopeful anglers will pack into a small stretch of the Susitna where the fishing is best, with casters standing literally shoulder to shoulder—as you can imagine, catching the wrong species with your hook is a common mishap during the melee. The Parks staff always makes sure to come by as spectators, and from stories I’ve heard, the situation can get quite comedic.

I took a walk this evening and was fortunate enough to hear the haunting call of the Common Loon (Gavia immer)—wa-loo, wa-loo. I had seen one of these water birds on Friday at Nancy Lake; they are marked by their black head and black and white checkered back. I came back and had a cup of spruce tea (high in Vitamin C), made from the bright green spring growth tips of the black or white spruce tree branches (mine was made from the white spruce, though I’ll have to try the black another time).

Tuesday (5/20)
These past three days we’ve been preparing the park for opening, with the extremely busy Memorial Day weekend looming on the horizon. Putting up signage, opening and stocking latrines, installing fee booths and clearing campsites are a few of the tasks I’ve worked on so far. But after this holiday rush, Jacob and I, with our trail boss Chris, will be working mainly on the park trails. In addition to maintaining existing trails, we’ve received grant money from the state to build some new trails and repair several old ones.

The weather has been beautiful: cool in the mornings and climbing into the 60’s in the afternoon, but today I think we must have hit 70. Though we’re in the midst of a small thunderstorm right now, prior to this the skies have been blue and the sunshine golden. The sky is enormous out here, similar to when I was in New Mexico visiting Auntie Sandra. As far as the wildlife report, new sightings occur every day. On Sunday morning I was about to head out with Vic when we heard a vociferous honking overhead and looked up to see a group of five Trumpeter Swans (Cygnus buccinator) soaring above us. I’ve spotted a few more grouse, and through Chris learned I wrongly identified these as Ruffed Grouse; they are actually Spruce Grouse (Falcipennis canadensis). Several Snowshoe Hares (Lepus americanus) have crossed my path (or perhaps I crossed theirs), with their white winter coats almost completely replaced by their more conservative, brown summer attire.

The soggy spring conditions on the Chicken Lake Trail make for wet walking,
but do produce some interesting viewpoints

Last night I was hiking the Chicken Lake Trail, and near the trailhead on the return trip I heard a noise to my right. About a hundred feet away was a female moose stripping bark from a willow tree (before the lush spring growth arrives, moose often eat this bark as a winter survival food). Hearing my approach, she raised her head, cocked her ears and stared right at me. I slowly reached to get my camera, wincing at the painfully loud unzipping of the bag. Though there was too much brush between us for a clear shot, I hoped to ease a little closer. But alas, she was a bit camera shy and took off. Perhaps she’ll work up the courage for a portrait next time. I came off the trail and headed to North Rolly Lake, where I wanted to test my luck with the trout using an old pole and lure I had found at the station. Rainbow Trout (Oncorhynchus mykiss) up here get quite large—fish under 20” are considered throwbacks. As the sun slowly set I threw in my red and white spoon with high hopes. But my choice of location didn’t seem to sit well with the resident American Beaver (Castor canadensis), and he promptly exited his lodge and patrolled the water directly in front of me, slapping his tail like a nun's ruler and diving briefly at each abrupt about-face.

He looks a little annoyed, doesn't he?

Beaver silhouette

You can tell this is gonna be loud

I decided to leave him in peace and headed home without a bite. But now that Chris has told me of his secret trout fishing hole, I’m sure my frying pan won’t be empty for long.

Arrival

The Talkeetna Mountains in the distance

I flew into Anchorage around 8pm Wednesday, and was picked up by John Wilber, the Chief Ranger for the Matanuska and Susitna Valleys. My flight from Texas took me over the Canadian Rockies, and their snow-capped peaks reaching above the clouds gave me a slight preparation for the beauty I would soon see during my descent: flying over the Prince William Sound, I beheld the Alaska Range and the Chugach Mountains rising like a massive and ancient city wall around Anchorage. It was still light; during the summer months in this part of Alaska the sun is below the horizon a maximum of 6 hours each day (the night gets shorter as we approach the summer solstice, June 21st, when the sun dips below the horizon and then immediately rises), so it never gets fully dark but rather “dusky.” John picked me up outside baggage claim and I hoisted my camera bag, guitar, backpack and mini-backpack full of mom-made baked goods into the back of his Alaska State Parks truck, and off we went. Anchorage is the largest city in the state, though the capital is Juneau. It has a few skyscrapers but really isn’t a “big” city; the population of the whole state of Alaska is only 640,000. As a point of reference, the population of Charlotte, NC is around 630,000. As we drove north I bombarded John with questions, and he politely answered with the patience of a man who has been interrogated similarly before. The day was overcast (the Alaskan spring is short, wet and generally nasty, but summer foliage is just now peeking out and summer is on the way), but as we crossed the Knik River a slant of promising golden sunlight valiantly fought its way through the clouds and cast a warm glow on the white peaks of the Alaska Range, and the grandeur of those mountains filled me with an awe held but a few times in one’s life.

We rode along Highway 3, one of Alaska’s few long roads. (Despite being larger than the three next largest states of Texas, California and Montana combined, our country’s biggest state has fewer miles of road than Rhode Island.) The forests here consist of mainly Paper Birch (Betula papyrifera), with white spruce (Picea glauca) and black spruce (Picea mariana) filling in between. Around 9:30 we pulled onto the Nancy Lake Parkway (which runs through the park and provides access to camping sites and boat launches), and John drove me around for a brief roadside tour.

The Nancy Lake Parkway

He hoped we would spot some wildlife, and soon enough, a Common Porcupine (Erethizon dorsatum) waddled across the road in front of us. (I picked up a useful Alaskan wildlife book, so I’ll try to accurately identify any species I spot.) It being my first porcupine sighting, I was excited, but John said he hoped to show me a bear or a moose. And sure enough, after seeing one of the campgrounds and a few of the lakes (the park contains over 15), on the way back we were lucky enough to happen upon a moose (Alces alces). John said it was a two year old female, and probably had recently been pushed off on its own by its mother. Seeing us, she leapt over a downed tree and ran into the woods a bit, then stopped and turned, staring at us while we stared at her. Moose are majestic, beautiful creatures, and hopefully I’ll get some photos to show you later on. We rode on to my house for the next three months, the Tippe Building, which is located near the park entrance about 150 feet away from the Ranger’s office. I was introduced to my roommate Jacob, and I moved my gear inside to my bedroom on the lower level. Though it’s been too cloudy for me to yet see it, supposedly on clear days we can see Mount Denali (McKinleyi) from our kitchen window. The building has a gas stove, heat and electricity, but for running water we make a short trip to the building next door.

My home

My roomMy kitchen

It was around 11pm local time (still daylight outside), which meant 3am back home, so after waving John goodbye I quickly made my bed and fell into a deep, Alaskan slumber.

Thursday morning I had volunteer training, held at the fire station in Wasilla. I had missed the first day of orientation, but was assured my absence would not result in a life-threatening lack of information. Leanne (I’ll have to check the spelling of her name) picked Jacob and me up, and we headed into town. At the 8:30am coffee social I met some of the rangers, staff and other volunteers from the area. Other than Jacob and me, all of the volunteers were middle-aged and up campground hosts, with retired couples making up a good percentage of the group. To my surprise, three or four of the hosts were from North Carolina. The orientation began, and the day passed quickly as we went over signage in the parks, rules and regulations, janitorial procedures, etc. Though much of the information did not apply to me as a member of the trail crew, it was good to get an all-around feeling for the parks system. Ranger Kim talked to us about bears and moose, which are really the only potentially dangerous species in this area (though I’m sure a porcupine could do some damage). We reviewed what to do when one comes upon one of these animals, a set of procedures which is extremely interesting. Though the best preparation for a bear encounter is to ensure that it never happens by singing, talking and otherwise alerting any bears in the area of your presence while in bear territory, if you do stumble upon a bear and are forced to react, DO NOT RUN! This will trigger a predatory instinct in the animal and will likely result in it chasing you. Instead, raise your arms, making yourself as big as possible while you stand your ground. If the bear does not advance, slowly back away, keeping your eyes on the animal at all times and continuing to talk calmly and firmly to it. If the bear perceives you as a threat (which may be the case if you disturb a mother with her cubs) and charges you, you must resist your seemingly logical urge to flee. I know, easier said than done when a 1,200 pound Grizzly is coming at you, right? But it is imperative that you do not run. Over 90% of bear charges are merely bluffs, and will stop short of actual contact. Once the bear stops advancing, continue to slowly back away. If in the unfortunate event that the bear actually attacks you, two different scenarios call for two different reactions. Though I won’t go into detail here, there are ways to tell if a bear’s aggression is defensive or predatory. If defensive, you should drop to the ground and lie on your stomach with your fingers interlaced over the back of your head and neck, playing dead. If the attack is predatory, fight back with all you’ve got. Try to wound the bear in the face, especially the nose and eyes, as these are its most sensitive areas. The Ranger recommended carrying bear spray, a kind of super-strength pepper spray, to deter any bears that come too close. But she also assured us that “bear-anoia” is a widespread epidemic among Americans, and that the actual threat of this quite human-tolerant species is much lower than popularly though: between 1980 and 1999, only 15 people were killed by bears in Alaska. And we have to remember: we’re invading their space, not the other way around.

In the rare instance of an aggressive cow or bull, a moose can be evaded with little difficulty if there are enough trees to circle around, though in a flat-out run they would easily overtake a human. Encountering a mother moose with her calf is one of these situations where you could count on aggression toward any stranger. But the real problem occurs when they come onto the highways. As you can imagine, striking a 1,800 pound bull moose at 60mph can end tragically.

Friday
Our trail crew supervisor, Chris, isn’t here yet, so Jacob and I had the first half of today to wander around and get to know the park a little bit.

American Robin (Turdus migratorius)

Under a clear blue sky we trekked down the parkway this morning and walked some of the paths to Nancy Lake, where we visited a few of the Public Use Cabins. (The park has 13 cabins available for rent, so if you’d like to visit…) Before starting down a winter ski trail (Nancy Lake SRA is a popular cross country skiing destination in the winter), we spotted a young moose similar in size to the one I had spotted on my first day. About half a mile down the trail I caught sight of what I believe was a Ruffed Grouse (Bonasa umbellus) before it scampered into the brush. After we returned to Tippee, I gathered some Fiddlehead Ferns (Dryopteris dilatata) to throw in with my pasta for lunch.

Fiddlehead ferns are immature wood ferns.
They are high in potassium, iron and Vitamins A, B and C, and can be sauted,
cooked, battered and fried, pickled, frozen or canned.
The taste is similar to collard greens, I think
(Be sure to pick the ferns while still tightly coiled; mature ferns are toxic)

We later headed to Nancy Lake Campground with Vic, the Natural Resource Technician for the Willow area, to do some work on the pump well there. Tomorrow morning brings my first full day of work, so I’ll sign off for now. It takes a little longer to get to sleep when it looks like it’s 6pm outside.