Wildlife from my window

One of the things I love most about where we currently live is the view. Each morning, as soon as the sun rises over the mountains behind us, it bathes everything in warmth and light. That is, when it's sunny. But since it's already been that way for much of this spring, I'm hopeful summer might just follow suit. All weekend, daytime temps stayed in the upper 50s and low 60s and this week is expected to continue that way... fingers and not-freezing toes crossed!



Since my significant other has been waking up very early for work, I've been getting up when he does. It's actually surprisingly easy to wake up when the sun is already high in the sky (today's sunrise was at 4:54 a.m.; sunset is at 8:57 p.m.). So if it's only 7 in the morning, but looks like 9 or 10, what other choice is there but to take advantage of these gorgeous days while we have them?

I'm not the only one capitalizing on this extra burst of nature-inspired energy. All around us, the animals have emerged from their winter hiding places. Sitka Black-Tailed Deer have materialized from the trees in force (it appears that winter has been mostly good to them) to feast on new roadside vegetation. The deer have appeared in such numbers that I'm always on the lookout for these gangly-legged jaywalkers or gawking drivers who have pulled over. Black bears, skinny from winter hibernation, have also emerged to munch precious new shoots and skunk cabbage in the ditches. And everywhere, birds flit about like determined postal carriers, their beaks stuffed full of nesting material.

We have so many different kinds of birds near our house I'm constantly reminded that I have a long way to go in being able to identify them all. "That's a black and white-headed sea duck..." I find myself musing with chagrin.

This one, though, is definitely a kingfisher and lives up to its namesake.

Below the four northeast facing windows of our cabin, sea life has been abundant. One permanent neighbor is an elderly river otter who lives in a nearby cave in the rocks. Every day when the water is calm we can spot him if we look, white whiskers leading the way as he swims on what looks like a set path along the edge of shore.

But the other day when the water was particularly calm and clear, I spotted him taking a dip in the shallows and then disappearing into the trees on land.

A furry mink has also been a regular visitor, scurrying just below the cabin. It's one of the cutest things I've ever seen, almost catlike with impossibly fluffy-looking fur.




Here it is again- photo taken today- right below the window:

We regularly see Steller sea lions and harbor seals in the water below the cabin. And far off in the distance we can also spot humpback whales diving for fish- without binoculars we spot them by their exhalation, a plume of white against cobalt seas and spruce-covered mountains. At night, we've heard them breech, throwing their whole bodies out of the water and smacking the surface on the return like a sonic-boom. The sound is unmistakable, stopping us in our tracks as we make dinner or brush our teeth to look at each other and smile: we are not alone. Not even close.

One of my favorite places in Juneau

Very early this morning, after my boat captain headed to work in Auke Bay, I turned our trusty Subaru the other way on the two lane road we call a highway and drove towards one of the most peaceful places I could think of.

Eagle Beach State Recreation Area is located at Mile 27 on Juneau's Glacier Highway (that is, 27 miles north of downtown Juneau). Managed by the Alaska Department of Natural Resources, it includes two separate parking lots (one open year-round), pit toilets, and (currently) three cabins that can be rented overnight. Though we'd love to rent one of them sometime, easy access from the parking lot and high public demand means that weekends and summers are generally booked solid as soon as they become available six months in advance. And as much I consider myself a planner, it can be tough to commit to something so far out. I suppose we could be like other people and book anyway, knowing we might not make it, but we have yet to take that step. Instead, we tend to island camp in the summer (one of the pluses of having a boat), and hike to the more remote cabins in the winter.

But even for shorter visits, Eagle Beach is one of my favorite places in town... or to be more accurate, out of town.



The area's relatively flat landscape means that one can literally walk for miles along a mixture of paved trails, sand and pebble beaches, and silty mud next to the Eagle River.



The beach is abundant in bird life, including migrating Canada geese (seen today), and a variety of sea ducks.

As I skirted the banks of the river I tried to give the geese a wide berth, but was warned with frenzied squawking anyway. And to think they might have been old neighbors of mine from Minnesota, too...

The widely-fluctuating tides of our northern latitude (Latitude 58, to be exact) also mean that a flat and low-lying area like Eagle Beach is exposed in varying degrees, sometimes a sandy plain stretching far out to sea, sometimes with only barely enough sand next to the water to thrown down a blanket. And sometimes, in August during salmon spawning season, the beach is so strewn with fish carcasses you wouldn't want to anyway.



In addition to spawning fish, people have been stranded out on the beach's sandy shoals with surprising regularity, unaware that they are about to become captive to the rising tide that has swallowed their footprints behind them. We've seen them from the highway above, huddled together on a sandy spit waiting to be rescued by the park service. The ocean doesn't joke around.



Sometimes on a sunny summer weekend day, the parking lot is crowded and people are everywhere, though not by Lower 48 standards. Today, on a beautiful, warm, spring Thursday, I was literally the only person around for miles.





I padded towards the ocean until the sand became dark and wet, turning around only because I wore hiking shoes instead of boots. Then, I found a place to sit for a few minutes in a crescent of soft golden sand, basking as the wind danced through my hair and the strong Alaskan sunshine warmed my face.



So why was my morning spent here instead of at work? Because after just over a month of being back in town, I am still in the market for a new job. It's not something I like to brag about, but here it is, the obvious truth. And until last winter I had a really good job for nearly seven years that I quit voluntarily to pursue other things, to take a break, to travel, and to spend time with people I care about. Now I'm trying to get back in the game as planned, but it's not so easy when things don't seem to happen fast enough. It feels like a game of musical chairs. But I am trying to be patient and persistent.



Today begins the official start of the whale-watching tour season for cruise ship passengers stopping in Juneau. It's also been exactly eight years since I first moved up here to be a part of it. In some ways things have changed so much since then it feels like that was a lifetime ago. But when I look out the cerulean waters of Alaska's Inside Passage, the seas churning against a backdrop of the snow-capped Chilkat mountains, I remember what led me here. In those moments I can remember what it felt like to be that hopeful new college graduate who packed up at a moment's notice and took a chance on a summer job and a ferry ride that would change her life.




It hasn't always been easy, but I'm so glad I did.