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.