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