haliaeetus leucocephalus, the bald eagle, mates for life.  every day, across the street from my office, near the fishing dock, a pair shows up and perches on the various pilings, usually their arrival coinciding with the low tide.  warmer days brought many more bald eagles – frequently in numbers too great to count – to this particular spot, as it sits adjacent to a salmon hatchery.  the colder weather, however, has thinned the gathering to just this pair.  the male atop one piling, his female mate at the other end of the dock atop another piling.  it is widely known that baldies spend a lot of time just sitting, conserving energy, during the short winter days, often remaining in one spot for days at a time, as starvation is one of the most common causes of death among them.  on this particular day, carefully, methodically, working my way onto the dock, she let me get pretty close to her, an inquisitive, piercing, prehistoric, and quite intimidating eye closely watching my every move. gastineau channel, juneau, alaska.  2011

it was the darkest part of a brief july alaska summer night, asleep on these shores, near these rocks, awakened by a lone male wolf that had quietly made his way into my camp.  suddenly confronted with a brief taste of the most wild of those things inside myself, made so by this animal in front of me, staring at me intently without so much as batting an eye, we gaze and regard each other across a vast evolutionary chasm of time and change, and there is no fear.  after he has learned what he needs to know of me, breaking his stare, he turns and softly, without making a sound, saunters away, down the shoreline, stopping along the way with a wail that raises every hair on the back of my neck, his voice now falling into a repetitive crooning.  as i drift off to sleep, he forever holds my attention.  he calls out to me from a place that only the memories of my genes can describe, something beyond the sill of consciousness, reflected and awakened in the primal, the pastel, and the complete perfection of this dreamlike vision that reckons, so starkly, every cell of my being.  walking here now, this december afternoon, wrapped in a sheer veil of vapor, these glacial blue-green waters congealed in transition, a series of tracks leads away from me, toward somewhere, perhaps something, out on the ice.   mendenhall glacier, juneau, alaska.  2011

when the power tripped at about 6 this morning, strangely but predictably right after the winds kicked in, testing the weight of days of snow (note: 50 inches this month and counting) on trees and power lines along with the patience of all those would-be turkey eaters, now busy slathering their birds in butter and in oil just as the lights all went out.  and all that could be heard was the moan of the winds high on the mountain above me, the errant early morning seagull, and the slap of water against the hull.  the total lack of light from the downtown area seemed out of place when looking out the window so it was obviously time to grab a photo.  f/4 and 2-second exposures, panning across the bow of the boat from right to left, another cobbled-up approximation of a super-wide angle.  my favorite part of this image is the invisible snow blower dude, behind the headlight, walking the float on the left side.  juneau, alaska.  2011

the first real winter storm came on with a vengeance sunday night and monday.  from what the weather geeks are saying, it set a new record for snowfall on that date.  for sure, things went to hell in a handbasket with this one.  the boat was just a floating snow pile.  at least until i was finally able to get her cleared.  with a cutting board.  yup.  you know the kind.  see, my fancy big-ass broom was plum ‘froze to the deck of the boat.  my efforts paid off, though, and she was shipshape again in short order.  and the broom is now stowed in the cabin, along with a plastic snow shovel i came up with while out and about with my good friend jack.  seems all the snow wasn’t good enough as those taku winds kicked in yet again and howled at around 50mph all night long.  we just can’t seem to get enough of this horrible weather around here so tonight we are down to single-digits and taking an occasional whiz off the back of the boat ain’t so appealing, as it now bears the additional potential risks of frostbite and falling overboard.  the sun finally broke out earlier today and the moon in the mornings has been really special.  here is a cobbled-together panorama of the view from the office.  the sun was trying its best to come through those clouds and the horizon had a bruised, purple look to it, and back to my right the moon hung there over douglas island, the snow and ice capping everything.

this was the view from where i go and drink, ummm, milk shakes once in a while.  its a real nice place to visit and the people are always happy.  except the other day when this one girl didn’t like the, ummm, milk shake maker dude and she swore at him.  for some reason the cops all came busting in and away she went faster than you can say hoosegow.  we all got a free round of, ummm, ice cream on the house.  the view was made for me: most of the rigs you see here in this end of the harbor are commercial fishing setups, further down are the motorsailers and yachts, the breakwater further out and lined with all manner of bird life, the water a cold steel black that goes perfectly with the long, dark nights here, the contrasts of the folds and ridges along and across douglas island.  quite nice.

this small space aboard this sailboat gives me things that could not have been anticipated.  going to sleep every night floating and rocking, waking up each day to the sounds of the wind and the rain and of water slapping the hull, my own simple rhythms sliding so easily into synch with those of the relentless tides, the darkness of winter now so closely wrapped around everything, the snow covered mountains above me standing out in marked, glowing, white no matter the hour of night.  i have been overwhelmed with the blessings of this place.  sail on, my friends, sail on.

the view from the back porch is pretty hard to beat. i was told to expect many dark, wet, and cold days when boat livin’ here in paradise would not be so swell.  this was definitely not one of those days.  days like this don’t come along very often here in the winter.  enjoy, says i.  looking out across the upper reach of gastineau channel, toward douglas island, now wearing a brand-new winter coat.  juneau, alaska.  2011

livin’ down by the sea has its perks but here in alaska it also has its dues.  the most recent storm brought some gusts topping 70mph here in the harbor.  the boat kept ever so gracefully laying over to port and the wind sounded like a murmuring crowd in my mast and those of my neighbors.  the day after it looked like nothing had happened.  if it wasn’t for the 22˚f air temperature, hell, it would be time to break out the lawn chairs, coolers, and the flip flops.  might be worth doing anyway.  show these people how we do it in illinois.  juneau, alaska. 2011

three lessons from today’s hike:

(1) trekking poles make excellent splints, in a pinch.

(2) breaking tibia’s and fibula’s sound like carrots snapping.

(3) always, always hike with a friend.  always.

hey, and dig those fancy-schmancy paper pants that the ER issued to me! Surgery tomorrow a.m. – catch you on the flip!

7/20: “…we can rebuild him.  we can make him better, faster, stronger…”  the new and improved leg has more hardware in it than a true value but the upside is it should hold things together quite nicely.  thanks to everyone for the well-wishes.  doc says i should be back out there on the trails in only 18 months…

the hanging, freezing fog accompanied the ice that coated everything and when the sun finally came it was the most colorful sunrise i’ve yet seen, on the edge of the buttonland swamp area of the cache river, pulaski county, illinois.  2006