Stiff north or east winds often accompany these clear and cold stretches of weather. Fortunately, for the most part, where I live in the downtown area does not get hit by these winds. Gavan Hill, the Sisters and Verstovia seem to create a nice wind break. However, these winds do funnel through some passes and valleys at either end of the road.

Today I drove out to Starrigavan and stopped to take a picture of the view from the Harbor Point turnout. There are no mountains close enough to protect this area from the cold outflow winds, which was reflected in the white caps covering the surface of the water.

Last winter was pretty mild until February, at which point temperatures dropped a bit and we had some pretty chilly weather. As it’s still only the middle of January, it’s hard to be certain this winter will remain warm, but looking at the prediction maps on this post from Cliff Mass, it looks like chances are we’re in for a relatively warm remainder of the winter. I would expect there to be at least a few cold days/nights in the mix if/when skies clear a bit between storm systems, but it will be interesting to see.

With so little frost and ice to be found this year, I thought I would share some pictures of large frost crystals I got last February on an outing to Medvejie Lake, as a reminder of the season.

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As it’s just past summer solstice, it seemed an opportune time to post a picture from a few years back (that I just recently got processed and uploaded) that makes me feel a little chill just looking at it. Winter is coming!

More photos from that wintery day on Verstovia

I think the interaction of mountains, clouds, snow, and light have many different moods, but some recur in such a way that they become familiar and recognizable. Last week I had that feeling of recognition which caused me to stop and take a couple of pictures as I was heading in to class over at UAS.

The fresh snow on the mountains fading with the still falling snow to the grayness of the clouds behind. With colors muted at best in the dim light, the technically green coniferous forest seems to run through shades of gray, from the dark slate gray of the lower slopes to a lighter ashy color where a thin layer of snow rests on the branches. A thicker layer of clouds overhead makes a darker band to match the darkness of the snow-free trees at lower elevations, providing a frame for the relative brightness of the snowy reaches.

This is one of the darker winter moods in Sitka. It’s not the darkest, I would say that distinction goes to those days of exceptionally heavy, mountain obscuring overcast where, especially in December and January, the low elevation sun can push so little light through the clouds that the ‘day’ is not much more than an extended gloomy dusk. Rather, this mood is the one where the clouds are a bit thinner, or the sun is a bit higher, the snow visible on the mountains lends a little more brightness, but there is still a sense of chilling dampness.

Sometimes it’s not clear why a relatively common occurrence resonates in a particular way, but I think in this instance it was because it’s getting late in the year for this mood to show up. Indeed, as the sun rose higher later in the morning, the mood largely dissipated. Unless there is another last glimpse some morning, It will probably be November before I see it again.

I suspect there are many other moods I recognize, but for whatever reason I just haven’t usually thought about in those terms. I’ll try to pay more attention going forward and see what I notice. I’m also curious what moods others recognize. Feel free to share in the comments.

Of course we’re gaining about 5 minutes a day of light. That’s a little less obvious when heavy overcast is making things dim, but the cumulative effect is hard to ignore. More subtly, I’ve noticed the buds on plants swelling pretty good. Last week there were some fuzzy buds coming out on willows. Today was the first time I really noticed obviously pale salmonberry buds (these were along the Japonski side of O’Connell Bridge). I’m pretty sure some of the elderberry buds were getting on as well.

I see that in 2005 on this day I reported noticing blueberries in bloom. I suspect it will be a while yet before they’re blooming this year – interesting how much variability there can be.

What I found was the data doesn’t stack up quite with my memory.

Plot of wave heights at Station 46084 summer-fall of 2010 and 2011. Click on graph for larger version

What I remember most clearly from fall 2010 is September being relatively calm. I’m thinking it was fairly calm over a couple of weeks, at least, and that inspired me to arrange for a boat trip out off Cape Edgecumbe (and someday I will get the photojournal entry posted for it) on 21 September. That date is marked by the vertical line. Or course that day the wind kicked up and there was 4 ft chop. It was not terrible out there, but it also wasn’t nearly the calm conditions as on other days. Of course this September we were buffeted by at least a couple of significant storms, including a pretty good one the beginning of September and an even bigger one (with 60mph winds) the third week. In addition, things had started to pick up even before that in August.

Compared to 2010, the end of September and most of October was relatively mild at the buoy in 2011. While not exactly calm – seas never really dropped below 5 feet – neither was it too brutal, as it was late October before the wave height got over 15 feet. November of both years seems qualitatively similar, at least for the data that is available. The buoy stopped recording data in November 2010 and was not repaired until spring 2011. As of this posting, the December 2011 has not yet been posted on the site.

As far as the summers go, it looks like 2011 had more consistent conditions from June to mid-August than 2010. It’s a little hard to tell strictly from the wave height data what things might have been like out on the water – a 5 foot high frequency/steep chop is going to feel a bit different than a 5 foot swell with it’s low frequency movements. The current reporting gives an indication of the steepness of the waves, but that’s not included directly in the historical data. I suspect it can be derived from the spectrum data, but I’ve not tried to figure out how to work with that.

In any case, I have concluded that my mistaken impressions of the differences between 2010 and 2011 are probably due primarily to a couple of different factors. First, the storms started nearly a month earlier in 2011, and the early storms this year were more dramatic in town than many fall/winter storms due to a different wind direction. Second, my impression of Fall 2010 is probably more correctly an impression of Winter 2010-2011. During this period I was able to get out on a boat trip at least once a month, with conditions being pretty reasonable each time. Since we’re just heading into that time period for this year, it may yet turn out to be similar this year. Unfortunately since the buoy was not functioning correctly last winter I won’t be able to check on my impressions.

Partial clearing made for some interesting views while Connor, Rowan, and I walked over to UAS this afternoon.

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Record November snowfall resulted in large snow piles such as this one piled up during the clearing of Centennial Building Parking lot. Connor and Rowan decided to climb to the top.

Broken clouds allow sunlight to partially illuminate snow covered peaks of Baranof Island.

Rays of sunlight illuminate Sitka Sound near Kulichkof (a.k.a. 6 mile) Rock.

Rays of sunlight illuminate Sitka Sound near Kulichkof (a.k.a. 6 mile) Rock.

Rays of sunlight illuminate Sitka Sound near Kulichkof (a.k.a. 6 mile) Rock.

Temperatures remained quite cold, but winds diminished significantly by later this afternoon. It was interesting to see all the polished ice intermixed with thin patches of wind sculpted snow. As windy as it got here over the last couple of days, it was much stronger elsewhere.

From today’s weather synopsis:

THE WEATHER PATTERN THAT CAUSED FREQUENT WIND GUSTS OVER 50 MPH
SATURDAY AND SUNDAY FROM JUNEAU TO SKAGWAY AND THE CENTRAL OUTER
COAST IS GRADUALLY WEAKENING. THE HIGHEST MEASURED WIND GUST WAS
150 MPH /130 KNOTS/ AT SHEEP MOUNTAIN SOUTH OF JUNEAU AT 3540
FEET ELEVATION. HIGHEST WIND GUST AT SEA LEVEL WAS 103 MPH /90
KNOTS/ AT CAPE SPENCER IN CROSS SOUND.

Forecast is for relative calm tomorrow and winds picking back up later in the week s a low approaches the coast of British Columbia. Fortunately, temperatures are also forecast to rise.

Pictures from today were taken as I walked across Swan Lake near sunset – hence the shift towards blue and lack of brightness (though I could have neutralized these things in processing, I found the contrast on the snow made it easier to see the texture and shapes if I left it as it was).

I didn’t notice too much unusual in the way of birds today, but one thing did stand out – there were three Great Blue Herons flying south over Swan Lake as I started across it. Perhaps they had all been roosting in trees around the lake and were headed to the beach for low tide. There certainly wasn’t any open water for them to fish around the lake.

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Wind blowing snow across Swan Lake caused sculpted drifts where something was able to capture snow.

Much of Swan Lake was wind polished ice, but there were still patches of snow that held on.

Wind blowing snow across Swan Lake caused sculpted drifts where something was able to capture snow.

Wind packed cold snow did not allow for very deep track impressions.

My primary impression of winters in Sitka is not so much shaped by cold temperatures or the amount of snow that falls, but rather what happens in the days after it snows. When a high pressure from the Yukon pushes over Southeast Alaska, we can get a period of days to even a couple weeks of temperatures down into the 20s and teens. As the high pressure weakens together with a low moving in from the Gulf of Alaska, it’s not unusual to get a day or two where snow falls before it warms enough to become rain. All too often, it seems like the temperatures rise to only just above freezing and remain there for several days. It’s also not unusual for there to be wind and decent amounts of rainfall as well. Today was a day like that.

Late last night I noticed the snow in the backyard seemed exceptionally bright, so I stepped out on to the front porch to have a look. High in the sky towards the south, I could see the practically full moon shining through a thin layer of clouds. This break in the heavy cloud cover allowed the ground to cool off dramatically – something it did not need that much help with considering all the snow, slush, and ice that was already there. By the time the sun was rising, heavy clouds were back, and it had started to rain. Over 3/4 of an inch fell throughout the day, and with snow and ice effectively blocking drainage down and over the surface, pools of standing water formed. Where foot or vehicle traffic had been adequate to compact the snow, but not enough to wear it completely away, this resulted in a layer of water over a sheet of ice. These treacherous conditions are one of the hallmarks of a Sitka winter, for me.

My memories of winter are probably shaped in no small part by the 4+ years I spent walking my paper route five days a week delivering the Sitka Sentinel. The physical difficulty and discomfort of walking along the icy and slushy sidewalks and side roads (or getting sprayed by slush churned up by passing motorists on the main roads) in cold rainy and dark conditions probably makes these times stand out more to me than they might for others. I don’t really remember how I felt about it at the time, but these days I do not mind it too much. It can be a little annoying when I catch an especially slippery spot of ice and land on my butt in a puddle of ice water, but fortunately that does not happen too often. It can even be fun to sort of skate along the lumpy sidewalk ice like I did a bit this afternoon.

I only got outside briefly today. I decided to take a short walk over to the new house to see what progress they had made since yesterday. Around the house through the course of the day I noticed the usual suspects calling – even heard some Varied Thrushes through the windows this morning. Connor and Rowan were excited by Pine Siskins visiting the feeders they had set up. They tried, but were unable to get any video, however. They got the camera a couple of times, but it seems as though the siskins would spook and fly off before they were able to record anything.

The other primary pattern is associated with low pressure systems moving across the North Pacific. Filled with moisture picked up from the relatively warm (for this time of year) oceans, some systems pull up warmer air and additional moisture and from near Hawaii (the so-called “Pineapple Express”) resulting in warmer temperatures and rain, while others manage to pull in some cooler air from the north and temperatures stay near freezing with snow a distinct possibility. These low pressure systems often bring thick cloud cover, and combined with the low angle of the sun and typical lack of snow, days can go by without the level of brightness climbing above gloomy dusk. For people who experience mood troubles in winter around here, I suspect these days of gloom have as much to do with it as the overall shortness of daylight hours.

Yesterday provided a nice contrast between these two patterns. Much of the day skies were mostly clear and sunshine brightened things up. By the time I headed out to take care of some grading at UAS, low clouds had started to move in but I could still see sunlight reflected off the Sisters. Shortly thereafter, the unnamed peak behind the Sisters was still in sunlight, but the Sisters themselves were no longer bright. I hurried down to Crescent Harbor, knowing I would have a less obstructed view of the mountains, and the contrast I found there struck me.

Looking back toward the high point on the island (see photo at top of this entry) – looking back at the mountains, it’s easy to imagine the sun has just dropped below the horizon from the perspective at sea level, with the last rays illuminating the snow covered peaks before the sunlight fades and the stars can be seen again.

Turning around and looking toward the ocean, it’s a different story. Heavy gray clouds filter the sunlight to the point where it seems as though the sun had already set, though that would not happen for another 20 minutes or more. Light snow consisting of small flakes reduces visibility even further but without the excitement that can come with large fluffy flakes drifting lazily down from the sky.

I found the contrast of moods between the two directions striking, and while I don’t actually mind the gloomy winter weather, I couldn’t help but find myself imagining being up on the sunlit peaks above the clouds, basking in the brightness, even if it wasn’t accompanied by much warmth.

I was once told by someone originally from Anchorage that it was darker here (in Sitka) in the winter than in Anchorage. My first response was to say that didn’t make any sense – Sitka is significantly further south than Anchorage, and so has more hours of daylight in the winter. In discussing the subject further, I came to realize that length of daylight is not all there is to the equation. Sitka’s relatively warm winters with a relative lack of snow combined with persistent heavy cloud cover make for pretty gloomy conditions. When the snow does fall, things brighten up considerably – especially if the snowfall is followed by clear skies. Such was not the case on this early December day, however.

Late morning sun illuminates the trees on the west side of Salmon Creek Estuary.

Salmon Lake trail follows Salmon Creek up from the end of Silver Bay to Salmon Lake, and then further on up the valley, ultimately branching with the main current trail going over to Redoubt Lake Cabin, and a historical trail that leads up to the Lucky Chance mines (though I’ve been told it’s difficult to find and follow in many locations). Last Sunday I had the opportunity to go out to the trail and hike around for a bit.

Bear Mountain is reflected in the calm waters of Salmon Creek Estuary.

Given the early winter season and a blanket of snow covering the trees and much of the ground, there was not too much to look at in terms of plants, but the scenery was quite stunning. There were deer tracks around, but I never saw a deer. A mink showed up on along the frozen lake shore, and there were several species of birds, including American Dipper, Brown Creepers, Hairy Woodpeckers, Mallards, Golden-crowned Kinglets, and a late Hermit Thrush.

The valley bottom forest structure seems much different than I am used to seeing in Indian River Valley (the place with which I have the most familiarity). The wide spacing of trees and predominance of Sitka Spruce are particularly notable. I’m not sure what might be the underlying reason for these differences.

A thin layer of clouds partially blocks the sun in this view of the upper end of Salmon Lake.

Salmon Lake was covered in a thin layer of frozen slush/ice. It might have been an inch thick, not nearly enough to support my weight, but a mink that scampered along the ice near the shore seemed to be in no danger of breaking through. At the inflow, there was still a patch of open water above the main body of the lake.

In clearings above the lake, both the upper lake sedge marsh/meadow, and muskegs further up, the snow was 1-1.5 feet deep or so. It was not as deep in the woods, nor the openings at the edge of the estuary below the lake.

This was only my second trip to Salmon Lake, the first being in October 2007. Neither trip has been especially well timed for seeing how the distribution of herbaceous plants growing in the valley may differ from other locations, but I do hope to get back for a future visit to look into it a bit more.

While out there, I also learned that owls (probably Western Screech-owls) are a frequent visitor to the NSRAA weir site, and toads are also not hard to find.

More Salmon Lake Trail photos.

About a foot of snow covers the long muskeg below the Middle Sister.

I had heard this year was going to be an El Nino year, which seems to correspond to relatively mild winters in Sitka, so it was interesting to see winter season getting started relatively early this year, with snow beginning to fall last week. In fact, there is an El Nino developing in equatorial Pacific Ocean, but apparently in the Pacific Northwest, at least, El Nino impacts tend to be strongest later in winter.

I had ibuttons I wanted to place for a project on temperature variation I’m working on, so I took a couple of hours to hike up Indian River. There was not too much snow in the woods, but in the openings it was at least a foot deep. Temperatures are supposed to rise into the 40s this week, so the snow may not last long, however.

It was pretty quiet overall, but I did hear some Ravens and Golden-crowned Kinglets. I also saw a couple of Brown Creepers and a Varied Thrush. Lots of deer tracks, but I did not see any deer.

Peak 2890 is barely visible through the low clouds above the West Fork of Indian River Valley.

Swan Lake has remains almost completely frozen at the end of March. Since it first froze over in early December, it has not opened up significantly.

Although spring officially started last weekend, the winter weather continues to hold on, with snow falling most days last week and snow in the forecast through at least Friday.

Winter did not seem especially cold overall, but unlike many years, there was no extended period of above freezing temperatures. Swan Lake remains almost completely frozen, as it has since ice first formed by mid-December.

Despite the on-going wintery weather, there are signs of changing seasons. The herring have returned along with the many birds and marine mammals that feed on them, buds are swelling on many plants, and of course there is much more daylight. Last week I noticed a male robin that I suspect is an early migrant.

The sun shining over the waters of Sitka Sound at noon on the winter solstice.

With clear weather prevailing in the days prior to and including the winter solstice, it was a good year for observing the sun during the time when the light and warmth we receive from it is a minimum. Many of the things I noticed this year were things I was vaguely aware of before, though I spent a some time trying to improve my understanding.

The sun is dipping below the horizon near the southern-most point it will set.

On the solstice, the sun rose in the southeast at 8:39 am, with sunset occuring in the southwest at 3:21pm, 6 hours and 42 minutes later. The locations of sunrise and sunset are basically 45 degrees south of due east and west respectively. The earliest sunset actually occured a week before solstice, when it was setting at 3:19pm. The two minute gain of afternoon light was more than made up for by five minutes lost in the morning, with sunrise on 14 December occuring at 8:34am, and on 21 December at 8:39am. The latest sunrise, 8:40am, occurs about a week after solstice. It is not until 4 January that the sun rises earlier than on the solstice.

The sun reaches its highest point in the sky when it is due south. This occurred at noon on the solstice when it was 9.6 degrees above the horizon. For comparison, on an equinox, it reaches a maximum of 33 degrees above the horizon with it passing 9.6 degrees at 8:25am and 5:55pm. On the summer solstice the maximum height is 56.5 degrees above the horizon and the equivalent height of winter solstice noon occurs at 5:45am and 8:20pm. The low height of the winter sun gives us long shadows when skies are clear, and the all too familiar dimly lit days when heavy clouds are overhead.

Shadow on the rocks near Brent's Beach cabin shortly after noon on the winter Solstice.

I made extensive use of this handy sunrise/sunset Calculator (which also includes sun altitude and the time when the sun is due south) for this post.

I was a little surprised to find an active caterpillar on the branches of Sitka Alder (Alnus viridis) in February.

While down at Lincoln Street Beach the other day with Connor, I happened to notice this caterpillar crawling around on the branch of a shore-side Sitka Alder (Alnus viridis ssp sinuata). Later I found a couple of others, though I was unable to relocate the first one. They blend in to the branch quite well, so I was lucky to catch the first one moving. After knowing where to look and what to look for, I was able to find the others even when they were not moving.

I was aware that some species of moths and butterflies overwinter as caterpillars, but I have not previously found any here (not that I’ve been looking), nor did I expect there would be ones that are active in exposed locations through the winter. I’m making the assumption that these caterpillars have been active through the winter, as it hasn’t been so warm in recent days that I would expect things to decide winter is over. In any case, it seems likely that these caterpillars have a reasonable tolerance for freezing conditions. I found them on the ends of branches with no cover, so night-time temperatures on cold days would almost certainly get below freezing. I don’t think they could crawl back down the tree fast enough to take shelter in the dirt, but I could be wrong about that, I suppose.

There is some question in my mind about what these are eating. Given where I found them, it seems likely they are eating some combination of bark, buds, or developing catkins on the alders. It also seems possible, though unlikely, that they are just hanging out, but not eating, for the winter waiting for the leaves to emerge in the spring. If this is what they are doing, I see little advantage to being active at all over the winter, in fact, it seems like it would be a big disadvantage due to increased chance of death due to weather or predation. On a bud not too far from one of the caterpillars I found, I did notice a little bit of damage on a leaf bud. It could have been from a caterpillar chewing on it, but I’m not sure whether it was or not.

I was a little surprised to find an active caterpillar on the branches of Sitka Alder (Alnus viridis) in February.

I was a little surprised to find an active caterpillar on the branches of Sitka Alder (Alnus viridis) in February.

Fellow natural history enthusiast Kitty LaBounty wanted to make a trip up the West Fork of Indian River to look for mosses over spring break. I thought that sounded like a reasonable way to spend a day, so I agreed to go along. Despite the spring in spring break, it’s been anything but spring-like around Sitka this March. The snow started around the middle of Febraury, and with only a few exceptions, there has been additional snow each day since then. We were uncertain what exactly conditions would be like, but after my slog through deep snow last week, it seemed the smart thing to do was take snowshoes, so that is what we did.

We got started around 9am under overcast skies threatening snow. The trail was well-packed from the feet of other hikers, so we carried our snowshoes at the start.

The walk along the trail was largely uneventful. The woods were quiet with the sound of the river muffled by deep snow. We made good time to the second bridge. At the second bridge, we stopped to put on our snowshoes in prepartion for leaving the trail.

It quickly became clear that someone else had been snowshoeing along the route we had chosen, so the snow was already partially compacted and supported our weight just fine, especially with the snowshoes. On a couple of occasions, I purposely went off the trail just to see what it was like. With the snowshoes on, the softer snow still held me, but I sank in noticably more than I was doing on the trail.

The trail followed the main fork of Indian River for a short distance before turning up a short, but steep, hill slope that took us to the edge of the large muskeg below the Middle Sister. The way up the hill was a bit of a challenge, as it was steep and the snow was deep, so it was difficult to step up high enough to move up. I ended up crawling and grabbing whatever I could hold on to to help pull myself up.

While we were walking through the muskeg it started to snow lightly. It was very different than other times I have experienced this place, mostly in the summer. I remember one warm summer day in this muskeg, perhaps the first time I ever visited it, actually. It was bright and I came out of the woods at the lower end of this long sloped clearing. There was the faintest of breezes, just enough to feel the warm air on my face as I left the coolness of the forest for the open sunlight. The sun glinted off the grasses and sedges that were growing. I noticed what almost looked like a path of light through the grasses and sedges. Along this path, the blades were twisted differently from the prevailing orientation and so reflected the sunlight with a different intensity. This was my first experience with one of the most ephemeral kinds of tracks you can find. Today, all of this was buried under 4 feet of snow, waiting patiently for the coming of spring and summer.

The trail followed the muskeg up toward the base of the Middle Sister before veering off toward the West Valley. We followed it to the edge of the woods and decided that it was time to part company, as it was our intention to go further up the valley. I let Kitty lead and we found the going a little tougher without the guiding trail. The snowshoes worked well, but sometimes fallen logs lead to treacherous sink holes where the snow was not as deep as it looked. Each of us probably got our snowshoes stuck at least once when they were partially pinned by a log or branch.

As we made our way along up the West Valley, picking our route by what seemed easiest, I looked up and noticed the trees seemed to imply there was a clearing up ahead. I couldn’t actually see the clearing, but the trees got shorter and scrubbier looking, as often occurs at the edge of muskegs around here. I commented that this would be a new clearing for me, as I did not remember finding one in the middle of the West Valley before. We made our way towards it, and as we left the woods, a mountain ridge became visible. The problem was the mountain ridge looked totally wrong for the one that goes from Harbor-Gavan Ridge back to connect with Starrigavan Ridge and the North Sister. It took me a minute for my brain to remap what I was seeing and realize that I was in fact looking at Verstovia. The problem with this was it meant we had become completely turned around, and this “previously unvisited” clearing was actually the edge of the muskeg we had just finished walking through a short time before.

This is the first time I can ever remember being completely turned around like this. I took some solace in the fact that I wasn’t the one leading at the time, but it was still a little disconcerting to have gone along so easily. In actual fact, it was probably a good experience to have, as it gave me a little bit of a sense for what happens when people get lost. I’ve read that sometimes when people get lost, they will ignore obvious cues that should tell them they are not where they think they are. For the briefest of moments, despite having a pretty good idea that there are not any clearings in the middle of the West Valley and despite knowing what the ridge should have looked like, I was about ready to decide that my memory must just be faulty and/or the lighting and snow might have made things look different. Expectations can be quite powerful and have strange effects, I guess.

After figuring out where we were, we turned back and follow our trail to see where we had gone wrong. It turned out to be a matter of consistently choosing a left tending path when picking our way through the forest. It was not a sudden turn around, and if it weren’t for the fact that we kept focussing on the best route (in the short term) through the snow, we probably would not have been turned around at all.

Having corrected the error of our ways, we worked our way up and towards the center of the valley. At one point along the way, Kitty told me to stop and look because there was a marten… or maybe a deer. I asked her if she didn’t think it might actually be an elephant, but that seemed a little unlikely given the amount of snow and the northerly location. I never did see the animal, but when we walked over to where she had seen something, there were fresh deer tracks, so that is presumably what she had seen.

After not seeing any deer tracks up from Herring Cove last week, it was interesting to see several sets of tracks in the West Valley. Although the snow was quite deep in many places, under the full canopy it was a little less so. Some of the blueberry bushes which, from past experience I knew to be fairly short, were sticking up above the snow. At one point we dug down and found the snow only 12-18 inches deep. The large trees in this valley seemed to do a good job keeping the snow from accumulating too deeply.

Without any real particular reason for doing so, we decided to make the big hemlock a destination for this hike. I had never visited the big hemlock by way of the muskeg before, so I thought it would be interesting to try finding it from this direction. In the end, we didn’t really have any trouble finding the big tree, and we stopped there for a bit of a break. While we were there, the clouds parted to reveal some blue sky and sunshine for a few minutes. Before we left, the clouds returned and with them snow and a little wind.

The wind made travelling in the woods interesting for awhile. It would shake the branches enough to release massive clumps of snow that would hit the ground with a large “WHUMPH”. I think some of the clumps, had they been a direct hit, would have knocked me down. They certainly would have made a for a rather chilly experience with snow down my front and back. Fortunately we both managed to avoid any direct hits. There were only a couple of occasions where snow fell close enough for us to experience the miniature blizzard that expanded from the impact zone.

On our way back, as we were following the West Fork not too far up from the first bridge, we spotted a Pine Grosbeak. After walking slowly up to it, we discovered there were in fact several of these birds.

Also on the way back, we finally found some overturned trees with rootwads that were not totally covered in snow. We took a look at some of the bryophytes growing on these, including some Goblin’s Gold (though we did not see any of the reflecting cells that give this moss its name). Kitty collected a few to look at more closely with a microscope, and we continued on our way. We ended up making it back to the trailhead by a little bit after 4pm.

I went up to Indian River Falls today and noticed a number of small streams that were still flowing with little ice (while others, sometimes larger streams, were frozen solid). I think the free flowing water must have come out of the ground at a temperature well above freezing and a flow rate such that, despite the cold temperatures, the stream stayed relatively ice free for a while. On one such stream I noticed what were probably the largest needle ice formations I have ever seen. They were at least 6-9 inches tall and seemed to have grown out of the silt/clay that made up part of the stream bed. It was interesting to see the clear layering. I am guessing they represent a cycle of night/day or warmer/cooler, but I am not sure.

I’m not sure how these ice formations are created, but a little internet research indicated that it involves hydrostatic pressure from ground water pushing up the ice. It’s unclear to me why/how that action would be working in this case, since the surface water is right next to the ice formations.

It was getting close to dark on this heavy overcast day and the bird seen here was staying near the tops of the trees. The poor light made it difficult for me to identify this bird at first. This difficulty was compounded by the fact that I was not really expecting to see a robin. My first winter back in Sitka (2002-2003) I didn’t notice any robins. The second winter I saw some in November, but did not recall seeing them much again until January. Last winter I remember seeing robins in January after not seeing them for some weeks before that. This year again, robins have shown up in January.

My best guess is that the robins that are showing up here in January are those that have stayed as far north as possible for as long as possible. When the sustained colder weather of December and January comes, they move only as far south as they must, and some of them end up in Sitka where they spend the rest of the winter. It seems like a plausible scenario to me.

As I rode and walked my brother’s bike out to Bear Cove, I felt like I was in pretty poor condition. Still, I persevered to the start of the trail and took my time walking to the lake. I decided to take one of the canoes out on the lake and paddled it past the waterfall. There is a patch of forest alongside the waterfall which I had previously thought might be suitable for hiking up through to get near the top of the falls. Further inspection revealed that this was unlikely, as there was a break in the woods with a steep section of bare rock. While I was looking, I noticed another possible route.

The beyond the falls as you head up the valley, the lower slopes above the lake tend to be covered in dense 4-8 foot brush with an occasional tree. This type of vegetation proves to be a bit of a hindrance to the average hiker. I noticed a place where a small stream of water kept the brush largely at bay. It appeared that this stream came from a draw that wrapped around behind a large rock feature. I decided to take a chance and hike up to see if I get make it up to a patch of woods above the falls.

It turned out that without too much difficulty and only brief detours into the streamside brush, I was able to follow the stream up to where I could get to the woods. Along the way, I noticed subtle indications of what I thought was probably a deer trail. I did not see anything conclusive until I neared the woods and saw quite much more obvious trails that appeared to get fairly frequent deer traffic. I was able to get to the top of the falls, although the view of the falls itself was pretty limited because of brush. However, there was a very nice view looking down the lake.

While I was up above the falls a couple of different times I thought I heard a jet, but based on past experience, I guessed that I was probably hearing avalanches. I looked around for signs of an avalanche, but was not able to see any. There was not much snow below the level of the clouds, so perhaps the avalanches were occurring higher and not making it down below the clouds. It is also possible that they were happening further up the valley and the sound that I heard did not give an accurate indication of direction due to the echoes.

I made it back down without incident, took some pictures from the canoe and paddled back to the trail end of the lake. As I was nearing the end, it started raining hard and I hurried to get back into the relative shelter of the woods.

After visiting with Jim Seeland at the Medvejie Hatchery for a few minutes, I rode and walked (the steep uphill parts) back to the car at Herring Cove. One thing I noticed along the road both coming and going was that there were many varied thrushes. I also saw a number of juncos and a few dippers along the streams at Herring and Bear Coves.

Pictures from the hike (old site):