Juneau, Alaska
Raindrops kept falling on our heads, and backs, and cameras, and… well, all over us to be truthful. It was a wonderful feeling. The rain in Southeast Alaska should be celebrated and commended for the wonderful job it does in growing magnificent forests, delicate blossoms, frilly lichens, and in the higher altitudes where it falls as snow, immense glaciers.
We followed the cycle of water today. Woven between the spruce trees were wisps of clouds, delicate mists not quite ready to succumb to gravity. Higher upslope the clouds let loose with a variety of raindrop sizes, from exuberant fog blankets to drenching plops of moisture. Raindrops gathered as rivulets along the trails we walked and these miniature tributaries traveled downhill to gather as the streams and ponds surrounding Mendenhall Glacier.
A black bear splashed into the running stream, looking for a meal of sockeye, also called red, salmon. Having swum from the vast Pacific Ocean to this small, natal stream, these fish, dressed in their breeding finery of crimson red scales were now in search of mates. The females rummaged around looking for the perfect gravel bed, someplace suitable to lay their precious orange pearls of roe into. There were beaver here as well. While we did not see these industrious rodents, a dam in view along the road gave testament to their presence and quest to still the moving waters.
Traveling back and forth paralleling Gastineau Channel we could see changes of the tide line. The moon with its daily gravitational tug of war between the earth and sun creates a watery bulge we spin through twice a day. As we were now traveling through the “skinny” part of the bulge, the tide was ebbing, and the mudflats of the channel were revealed.
High up in the clouds on Mount Roberts some of us experienced an eagle’s eye view of Juneau. The towns’ buildings and ships moored dockside appeared as miniature toys, much like the pieces used to create villages along a toy railroad track. Along the mile loop trail mushrooms could be found sprouting from the forest floor, the last of the salmonberries drooped from their stalks, and a pair of wet but otherwise nonplussed porcupines waddled down the trail, stopping periodically to nibble on vegetation.
While our day has been wet, it has given us the opportunity to reflect on the power, grace, beauty and necessity of the raindrop. Even the ones that fell on our heads.
Raindrops kept falling on our heads, and backs, and cameras, and… well, all over us to be truthful. It was a wonderful feeling. The rain in Southeast Alaska should be celebrated and commended for the wonderful job it does in growing magnificent forests, delicate blossoms, frilly lichens, and in the higher altitudes where it falls as snow, immense glaciers.
We followed the cycle of water today. Woven between the spruce trees were wisps of clouds, delicate mists not quite ready to succumb to gravity. Higher upslope the clouds let loose with a variety of raindrop sizes, from exuberant fog blankets to drenching plops of moisture. Raindrops gathered as rivulets along the trails we walked and these miniature tributaries traveled downhill to gather as the streams and ponds surrounding Mendenhall Glacier.
A black bear splashed into the running stream, looking for a meal of sockeye, also called red, salmon. Having swum from the vast Pacific Ocean to this small, natal stream, these fish, dressed in their breeding finery of crimson red scales were now in search of mates. The females rummaged around looking for the perfect gravel bed, someplace suitable to lay their precious orange pearls of roe into. There were beaver here as well. While we did not see these industrious rodents, a dam in view along the road gave testament to their presence and quest to still the moving waters.
Traveling back and forth paralleling Gastineau Channel we could see changes of the tide line. The moon with its daily gravitational tug of war between the earth and sun creates a watery bulge we spin through twice a day. As we were now traveling through the “skinny” part of the bulge, the tide was ebbing, and the mudflats of the channel were revealed.
High up in the clouds on Mount Roberts some of us experienced an eagle’s eye view of Juneau. The towns’ buildings and ships moored dockside appeared as miniature toys, much like the pieces used to create villages along a toy railroad track. Along the mile loop trail mushrooms could be found sprouting from the forest floor, the last of the salmonberries drooped from their stalks, and a pair of wet but otherwise nonplussed porcupines waddled down the trail, stopping periodically to nibble on vegetation.
While our day has been wet, it has given us the opportunity to reflect on the power, grace, beauty and necessity of the raindrop. Even the ones that fell on our heads.
