Puffins.

Puffins. Need I say more?

My boss certainly didn't have to, when I received a text from him one Saturday morning in May, not long after I had woken up late and just enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, staring absent-mindedly out the window.

The surprise text informed me that there was a free birding cruise for local nature guides, leaving in exactly 15 minutes.

Stuffing my binoculars and camera in my bag, I jogged down to Crescent Harbor. These cruises are usually upwards of $90, so knowing that it was not only full of ornithology experts, but also prime nesting season for seabirds on St. Lazaria, made it a no-brainer to at least try to make it before the boat took off.

Sure enough, As I got down to the dock, a woman closing the gate asked if I was trying to get on the birding cruise. "You'd better run." She said, pointing to a small Allen Marine boat.

I was the last one on, and they were just untying it from the dock. About a dozen other birders were on board, equipped with oversized telephoto lenses and binocular harnesses.

The puffins are coming...

It was another rare pristine day, warm and sunny, but with a chilly seabreeze. I spotted my first Tufted Puffin as we neared the small wilderness island. Before I knew it, I was seeing clumps of a dozen or so bobbing placidly in the waves. More, and more, and more puffins, interspersed with huge flocks of rhinocerous auklets and thick-billed murres. I have never seen so many of these nesting seabirds in my life!

Faraway peregrine falcon

Up on the cliff, as we neared St. Lazaria, the peregrine falcon I had seen a month before was also still there. In classic peregrine form, it was grumpily attacking any bald eagle that flew near its perch on the rocks.

I simply couldn't believe how many puffins and murres there were. We're talking thousands! They flew overhead in their awkward auklet and puffin ways, like tiny footballs flying through the air with minimal direction and control.

Huge floats of thick-billed murres

Thousands of nesting seabirds

Unfortunately, after about the first hour on the boat, I had been looking through my binoculars too long, and sea sickness snagged me in the gut from out of nowhere. I tried to fight it as long as I could, but eventually it became unbearable, and I had to sit down for a while in the cabin.

Little did I know, this was an over 3 hour long cruise! I felt bad, being unable to tough it out on the deck with most of the other birders, but it was the worst sea sickness I've ever had. I was glad I had gotten to see most of the seabirds in the first hour, because they didn't really see anything new in the remaining time they circled the island.

Grey whale flukes

On the way back to Sitka, a grey whale did pull me out of my nauseous daze for a short time. I first spotted the blow as I was trying to talk to (and not throw up on) one of the lead ornithologists; as the boat slowed down, the whale proceeded to breach and roll in the calm waters for us for several minutes, making for some great photo opps.

Grey whale back

Grey whale flukes again

One of my favorite islands

The visitor center where I work, on the left!

Despite being seasick for the majority of the trip, I had a blast seeing the plethora of puffins nesting on St. Lazaria. It's crazy to think there is such an abundance and diversity of life, just a few miles from shore! It's incredible how fast they all showed up as well. I hope to get some more opportunities to see St. Lazaria later this summer, and see what it looks like later in the season!

We Are Mountain Women!

"In case we get eaten by a bear, we went out hiking the Indian River Trail. Left at noon, should be back no later than 7. We have bear spray and a small amount of food."

It's Saturday, and my roommate Christina and I leave this note, along with our phone numbers, on the whiteboard in the kitchen as we head out to hike the Indian River Trail. I've gotten in the habit of leaving these notes whenever I go hiking, partially in good humor, partially in all seriousness.

We bike the short distance to the trail head, lock our bicycles to the wooden sign, and plunge into the chilly Alaskan rainforest. The day is a strange mix of light rain and sunshine; it seems like it can't make up its mind if it's going to be warm and sweaty, or chilly and damp, but we spend the entire hike putting on and taking off our rain jackets.

The moodiness of the weather does nothing to our high spirits, however. In fact, we both agree it's perfect and couldn't have hoped for a better day to conquer the 10 mile round trip journey, though we're not sure how far we'll actually make it.

As it turns out, the trail is spectacular. The deeper we are swallowed into the rainforest, the more beautiful it becomes. Gigantic fallen trees spanning over the riverbed have been retrofitted with sturdy planks and hand railings to make precarious bridges across the gaps. Each one crosses the gurgling, rushing Indian River where the salmon will soon be running upstream in just a matter of weeks.

Lunchtime view

About an hour into the hike, we stop in a beautiful clearing with a view of the last bridge we'd just crossed, and hungrily chow down on our packed sandwiches, before hitting the trail again. We keep a comfortable pace, and I am grateful for the level terrain -- the last few hikes I've done in Sitka have been horrendously steep and fast-paced, but here I'm feeling as if I could walk to the ends of the earth without tiring.

One of my favorite bridges :)

Just as our legs are starting to become the slightest bit sore, the sound of the river becomes louder, and in the distance, a giant waterfall comes into view. Suddenly all hints of fatigue are lost. Here we start seeing more hikers than we had before; the trail ends a few hundred yards before the river, and only a few people have ventured further to bushwhack closer to it.

First view of the river

Christina has never seen a waterfall of this scale before, so we decide that bushwhacking is definitely in order. We scramble up a narrow unofficial trail through thorny devil's club and thick berry bushes, slide down a rocky bank, and find ourselves standing alone at the base of the waterfall. It's large enough to be creating it's own powerful wind, swirling mist and spray through the saturated canyon.

Time for silly selfies

Getting blown around and soaked - We are Mountain Women!

We made it!

After spending some time slipping and sliding and exploring around the base of the falls until our hands were numb with cold, we picked our way back to the trail, trying not to get soaked along the way.

Chocolate lilies!

Mountain view from the trail

The hike back was definitely a little harder. Having already gone 5 miles, and knowing we had 5 more to go -- and with the weather starting to become rainier -- we knuckled down and trudged our way back at a slightly slower pace, experiencing the green tunnel of the old growth forest in a little more of a blur.

By the time we had gone 8 or 9 miles, I felt like I was on autopilot. Even if I wanted to explore some of the side trails, my legs decided we were sticking to the main path and getting back to our bikes without any pit stops. Fortunately, we made it back in a total of 6 hours since we'd left, and besides being sore and exhausted for the remainder of the night, the rest of my mind, body, and spirit felt incredibly refreshed and invigorated. I will definitely be doing this hike again this summer.

changes

I've been through a lot of changes lately, all for the better I think. I was talking to someone about change yesterday and remembered something Mom always used to tell me: "Change is the only thing you can rely on." In effect, it's the one constant in life -- ironically, since the word itself suggests anything but consistency. But at long last, whether things are going well not, you can count on them to change.

My new digs

The most tangible change that has occurred is my move to a new housing unit, next door to my old one. This came suddenly and unexpectedly, but I am super happy with my new accommodations. I went from my tiny little compact 2nd floor room in the 1970s Forest Service bunkhouse to a huge bedroom on the first floor of this historic 1940s house. It sits in the middle of a giant lawn on a hill with apple trees and salmonberry bushes and forest all around it.

This one also owned by the Forest Service (leased out to the NPS), but it looks and feels much more like a home. There are only 2 other girls living there, both my coworkers, so it's nice and quite with lots of privacy and space.

My work is starting to follow a more regular schedule too, which is nice. I've been able to focus more on revising my programs, plugging away at my collateral duties, and taking advantage of additional opportunities.

One of these opportunities is a Certified Interpretive Guide course I am taking this month, administered by the National Association for Interpretation. It's a pretty big deal. The course itself has been a lot of review of things I've already had training on, but it'll be nice to have the official certification to put on my resume. 

When I'm not taking training courses or leading tours or talking to visitors, I've had a lot of opportunities to get out on the trails the last few weeks. One of my goals this summer during my trail roves was to find the illusive Ghost Slug, which I'd heard about from some other rangers. People always talked about them, saying they could be found on this or that part of the trail, but hard as I looked, I could never find one. Well, last week my luck changed!

The illusive ghost slug! With it's one lung...

On my way back from an hour out on the totem loop, I spied a ghostly white slug munching away at some detritus on the forest floor! Naturally, I was ecstatic and immediately down on my hands and knees trying to get pictures of it. You've got to admit: that thing is AWESOME.

From what I understand, it's just a white morph of our normal banana slug, but the fact that it's a called a "ghost slug" makes it way cooler. They creep me out to no end, too -- like all banana slugs, these dudes have one lung, a gaping hole on the right side of their bodies. They also collect food on the slime on their butts, and then twist around to eat it off their tails when they get hungry. Seriously, WHAT? I don't even....

So there's some nature for you, for the day. Maybe that's enough for the entire week.

And last but not least, a ranger glamour shot for you (mostly you, Mom and Dad!), taken yesterday out on the intertidal zone. Props to our fantastic park photography intern!

Photo by Katy Kildee

Springtime reflections

Deer Heart and moss

It feels as if spring has finally gotten a firm hold on Sitka. When I first arrived 2 months ago, the forest floor was still barren beneath the high canopy of the evergreens, but within the last few weeks, lush foliage has burst forth from dormant flora that I hadn’t even noticed before. The woods have become ten times denser with the bright green yawn of deciduous trees awakening from their winter slumber, and the soft understory is completely obscured by thousands of Deer Heart leaves that have sleepily unfurled from their spear-like shoots. Ruby-crowned kinglets and pacific wrens warble their odes to the season, fervently trying to find mates amid the cacophony of nature stirring to life again.

Savannah Sparrow

Banana Slug! ♥

The human world has stirred to life as well. Shops in town have longer hours now and more people rove the sidewalks. I still can’t get over how different it is from Nome, or even Anchorage. In some ways, it doesn’t feel like the “Alaska” I know. Looking at the mountains and spectacular scenery, there’s no doubt about where I am, but Sitka gives off its own unique vibe that I haven’t quite put my finger on yet. People are more relaxed, friendly, and happy. It’s the tourists who look like they are trying to prove they’re either “Alaskans-at-heart,” or “I’m-not-from-around-here-let-me-tell-you-my-life-story.” My favorites are the ones who come off the ship wearing their color-coordinated faux-fur trooper hats with matching fur boots and fur-lined coats when it’s 55 degrees and sunny out.

With the goofy interns and volunteers

But I digress. The town itself seems to keep up its appearances and personable disposition, at least everywhere I’ve been so far. Despite it being relatively small, I feel a little more anonymous here, and I like that. Perhaps that will change the longer I’m here, but for now I’m happy.

At Castle Hill on a sunny day

Sometimes I get lonely. I suppose everyone does, who lives far away from all their friends and family. I know a few people here now, but it's different than having someone to talk to who truly knows me. It can sometimes feel like you've been forgotten, even though I know that isn’t remotely true. Having no internet leaves a little too much time for over-analyzing such things.

Lake reflections

The lack of internet has actually been incredibly enjoyable in most other respects. I have a limited data plan on my phone so I activate it for a few minutes each day just to check the vitals but otherwise I’m restricted to using the wifi at the library a few times a week. 

Dramatic skies

I’m still amazed at how much free time I have during the day without it. I’ve become so much more creative, using my time to write, try new forms of artwork, to sew, cook delicious meals, read for pleasure, and go running down new streets I haven’t explored. Mornings are my favorite, when I just sit at the kitchen table with a cup of hot coffee and stare out the window; the sun has long since risen, now coming up around 4am, but the light is still golden and robins bounce around in the grass while thrushes peek out from the ever-fragrant skunk cabbage in the swamp across the driveway.

My latest piece: Raven in Ink

After breakfast I’m out the door and making the 15 minute walk to work along sidewalks overgrown with big colorful tulips, clusters of forget-me-nots, stalks of daffodils, and a wild scattering of dandelions run rampant. Down the hill I am captivated by the view of Crescent Harbor on a backdrop of islands and mountains. When I get into work, I’m at the beautiful visitor’s center perched on the edge of the intertidal zone and the northern rainforest surrounded by ancient totem poles and soaring bald eagles above.

Life here is all at once beautiful, challenging, unfamiliar, and isolating. It wasn't until recently that I figured out why I am drawn to these things: Within the great anonymity and loneliness that is sometimes the reality of the life I’ve chosen to live, is also a deep richness of fulfillment and inspiration I could never live without.

And we're back!

After my long hiatus, the thought of catching up on my travelogue seems overly daunting. A lot can happen in a month, a lot more than can possibly be summed up in words, so I will substitute mostly pictures for now, in lieu of spending my entire evening trying to remember what happened three weeks ago, much less a few days ago.

In light of this, we will begin with a photo:

The muskeg

With a lucky streak of amazing weather last month, I took it upon myself to explore some new trails on my days off. That Friday I hiked a couple miles out and back along the Indian River trail, a (thankfully) flat trail that parallels the river into the mountains. Apparently the last mile takes a steep upward climb to a waterfall, which I hope to get to next time.

Most of the trail is in the riparian ecosystem, but one part of it veers off into the muskeg. Muskegs seem incredibly foreign to me, even though they're somewhat comparable to our swamplands back home. Unlike the swamps however, the soil in the muskeg is so acidic, nothing can grow very big. So all those trees you see in the picture are actually hundreds of years old, but their growth has been stunted for that long!

Muskegs also have these scary mud pits that are basically like quicksand, but stickier. Everyone who is from here has horror stories of knowing people who have accidentally stepped into one and sunk all the way down to their earlobes in the thick, sticky black substrate. No thanks! Kind of makes me wonder though, what kind of bones and artifacts could be at the bottoms of these pits from other unwitting victims of the muskeg's greedy soils!

Muskegs are also great because they offer breathtaking views of the mountains. Especially on a clear day like this one was.

Benefits of solo hiking: derpy selfies

Juvenile bald eagle

Cute plank bridge

I will never get used to the color of Alaskan rivers

The river and the trail

After hiking back to the trail head and biking home, I took a quick shower and then headed out again for a spontaneous camping trip with a couple people from work.

I had no idea what to expect, and was not told we'd be hiking up over 3,000 feet in elevation in under 2 miles. In other words, my thighs and knees were to hate me for the next week and a half! With big backpacks stuffed with our tents and sleeping bags, we bushwhacked up a narrow trail for over 2 and a half hours as the sun made its lazy descent across the western sky.

At one point we stopped to cool off at a stream by dipping our hats and bandanas in the icy water. I felt like we'd been hiking for hours, so I jokingly commented, "What are we, like a quarter of the way up?"

"Yep, just about," was the answer. And he was totally serious. We were barely up the mountain. At some points I literally thought I would never make it up, but I kept pushing myself one step at a time, feeling slower and slower, my knees shaking and buckling under their lack of strength for this type of workout.

 

When we finally made it to the ridgeline, the view was more than worth it. I couldn't believe I'd made it up, much less that we had plenty of time to set up camp and hike even further up to the peak for dinner watching a gorgeous sunset. I was so freaking proud of myself. :-)

Wait, when did we get to Middle Earth?

Pastel sunset

Sunset on the mountains

I was always awed by the tundra sunsets when I lived in Nome, but I've gotta be honest: this one put all others to shame. The 360 degree views of the mountains, the coves, the little mountain top lake were unprecedented. I wish I'd had a proper camera to more accurately capture the scene.

Watching the pastel colors smear across the sky, we ate our dinners of fresh smoked salmon right off the skin and sandwiches. Ptarmigan voiced their hilarious calls (seriously, google it) as we hiked back down to our tents.

That night no one really got any sleep, between the ptarmigan calling all night and the hard rocky ground, and the frigid temperatures that the evening brought with it. I was perfectly happy in the morning to forgo further mountain climbing and head back down to the car! We had a hardy breakfast of oatmeal and coffee, refilled our water bottles with purified water from the lake, and trekked down in record time.

It was definitely my most adventurous weekend yet, with many memories made and lessons learned, and for sure the most incredible views I have seen yet!

Be back soon!

I fully realize it has been a month since my last post, and it's not for lack of things to post about. Truth be told, my laptop decided to kick the bucket about a month ago and it has taken this long to get it repaired.

 Surprise surprise! There is only one computer store on Baranof Island and they referred me to a company in Illinois to fix the broken part of my laptop. Three weeks and roughly $150 later, my laptop should be back and in working order early this coming week, so prepare yourself for a backlog of stories and adventures.

That's all for now, because MY GOD it is annoying to type on the touch screen of a mobile device! Hang tight, my friends. I miss you all, and will be back soon to catch up fully with everyone.