It's all relative...

A conversation I had this week while in the field with Tony, our local crew leader, helped me put life on Prince of Wales into perspective--at least when it comes to bears. There is an association I have (and I think many others) between the Alaskan wilderness and the reality that bears are a vital, and ever-present, part of the ecosystem. Back in Wisconsin, I have spent many hours in the outdoors in both work and play and have given very little thought to bears being an issue. The idea of carrying a weapon on the outside chance that one encounters an aggressive bear never crossed my mind while in Wisconsin. Alaska is a different story. 

Tony and I taking data in the rain...

Tony, who I would guess is around 50, grew up in Hydaburg and has spent the majority of his life hunting and fishing the area. On the subject of bears, he mentioned to me that he has seen an estimated 50-60 bears--since May of this year. It appears that locals don't hunt bear very often as they consider the meat less-than-stellar as table fare, but there is a large contingency of out-of-state hunters that consider Prince of Wales prime trophy black bear country. And Tony agrees that there are large bears in the area. This is where the the relativity of life on Prince of Wales came to bear (excuse the pun) for me...Tony nonchalantly told me that he has ONLY had to use his weapon TWICE in defense of aggressive bears.

Up until this point, I had never met someone who had ever been charged or threatened by a bear. I have read numerous accounts and have heard a couple second-hand accounts, but nothing such as the experiences that Tony has had.  It is just a part of his daily life.

As is the rain. We got lucky our first week of surveys, and even though we had rain, it was relatively light and short-lived--we even had an 80 degree day (which felt quite warm).

Mother Nature wasn't quite so abiding the second week. Prince of Wales gets somewhere in the neighborhood of 120" of precipitation annually. From what I have experienced, the rainfall isn't heavy, just persistent. On our final day of surveys we had a larger stream to tackle that took us about a mile upstream from the inlet of the lake.

Persistent rain made taking good pics a challenge...

Relative calm on the way in...

Going in we were able to cross the stream at opportune times making the hike in bearable. However, on the way out, about 8 hours later, the stream had risen about 10" and we had to change our route and spend more time bushwhacking than we would have liked.


...not so calm on the way out.

A rather sizable beaver pond we found.

We're burnin' daylight...

Thanks to the efforts of one of the hardest working crews I have ever been a part of, we have finished the stream surveys in the first watershed about two days ahead of schedule. Our days were long and breaks were held in check by Tony who, despite the inordinate amount of daylight surrounding the summer solistice, kept us on track by his ever-vigilant reminder, and now project mantra, "We're burnin' daylight."

Our fearless crew on day 1...

Essentially what we are doing for the surveys is walking upstream and collecting a bunch of data (coordinates of structures and features, bank width, water depth, bankside vegetation, stream bank and bed composition, gradient, fish trapping, etc.)  that will be used to classify the type of stream according to regional protocols. As we encounter tributaries we start the data collection over again for that tributary. The watershed we were in this last week is essentially a big bowl with steep slopes that has an inlet on the north side and an outlet on the south side. Numerous streams carved valleys throughout the bowl sides and allow for run-off from snow melt in the higher elevations. The inlet is fed in part by a higher elevation alpine lake and the outlet dumps into an ocean bay. The watershed is an important fishery for local communities and the data we collect should be beneficial in helping to protect the entire watershed and the fishery.

Setting fish traps...

Measuring pebble size...

Our home for the week turned out to be shared quarters with a fish weir crew at their camp that sits on the river between the lake and the bay. The camp has developed over years of operating the weir and includes a separate kitchen (complete with a refrigerator that was packed over terrain that is questionable without a load), sleeping quarters with plywood bunks, and DVD's via a TV powered by generators.

Home away from home...

Getting a canoe to the lake--not for the faint of heart. This is the path the refrigerator came down on the back of one of the weir crew...

Wildlife sightings were pretty slim and consisted of a few deer, plenty of deer sign, some bear tracks, typical regional birds, and one very protective family of gulls that dive-bombed us when we motored into a stream near their nesting area. We passed the nest that contained two young chicks in downy feathers hunkered down on top of a moss-covered log that protruded from the lake. The location provided protection from land predators; but, when we went by the following day the chicks were gone--presumably a snack for the numerous bald eagles that also kept the gulls busy.

Here today...gone tomorrow.

As usual in SE Alaska, the terrain provided some challenges. Once again our crew consisted of members who knew how to traverse the numerous downed logs and thick vegetation. Keeping up at times was a challenge for a relative flatlander like me (despite Tony's reassurance that I was in pretty good shape for a 240# guy), especially when crossing mossy, wet, and, therefore, slick logs that spanned streams.


I am smack dab in the middle of this picture holding a survey rod. The vegetation made taking measurements at any kind of distance difficult.

One of the numerous log bridges throughout the watershed.



We crossed the lake in a 12' boat (with an outboard that was also humped over the less-than-ideal trail) numerous times in our search for streams, the scenery was a definite bonus.



We encountered a few falls..

The valley where the stream enters the lake.

We surveyed this stream...at least until the gradient provided a barrier, which made for a rather short survey.

 For the remainder of this week we will be in Kooshtakah (a.k.a. Bigfoot) country...I will be sure to keep the camera ready.

Postholing in June...

Our search for goshawks this past week took us to a mountain lake--and a protected bay--about 35 miles southeast of Juneau. The lake is about 5 miles long and is approximately 550' above sea level. To get to the lake we hopped on a deHavilland Beaver--an omnipresent workhorse in Alaska--and took a 30 minute flight out of Juneau.

Once on the lake we were greeted by our camp personnel (a.k.a. bear guards), off loaded gear onto a skiff, and took a short ride to our camp. The camp consisted of a kitchen area, a wall tent, and a dome made up of a series of plastic discs set on a raised platform. The dome was our sleeping quarters--quite plush considering where we were. The entire camp was surrounded by an electric fence to deter any curious bears. Once we got settled in our dome, we got right to work and started our surveys.

Kate and I realizing the GPS coordinates needed some adjusting...which hemisphere are we in?

Cathy being protected by Cameron, our very diligent bear guard/camp host.

On our way to the boulder field of death.

A few of our calling stations took us into an area that is strewn with boulders that ranged in size from a Mini Cooper to a double-decker bus. If it weren't for the snow the boulder field wouldn't have been an issue. Temperatures were warm enough that snow melt was pretty rapid; however, the snow around the boulders was rather deceiving and many times we would cross a snowy area not knowing how much support the receding snow could support. For the first time in my life I can honestly say, as each of my legs postholed to my upper thighs, I am glad my crotch ended any momentum.

Despite the difficulties with the boulder field, the views were fantastic.

Despite, or more likely, because of, the steep terrain surrounding a significant portion of the shoreline of the lake the scenery was quite breathtaking. We spent part of the surveys on foot and then switched to a canoe to reach some of the other calling points. Canoeing a remote lake has its perks.

Hard at work

After three days at the lake Cathy and I took a short plane ride down to the bay to continue with the surveys. We spent the next couple nights aboard a boat moored in the bay eating extremely well--meals included halibut and fresh crab prepared by a very generous host who also ferried us via a dinghy to the shore for our surveys. Within minutes of boarding the boat, the host pointed out a sow brown bear and her two cubs on shore--my first time seeing a wild brown bear.

The bay, to overstate the obvious, is at sea level. One thing I learned rather quickly this week is to really consider the distance between contours on a topographic map when planning a trip. Normally, back in Wisconsin, I am very content with 100' contours where slopes and gradients, as insignificant as they are, show up rather nicely. So, when I looked at the map of our calling stations and saw a "flat" area, I thought it would be easy work to make it to each of the points.

G1-G4 pretty much sucked...

As I am sure can be gathered, my skills at reading topographic maps needs some serious updating. Luckily for the two days that followed we were in the company of our bear guard who apparently moonlights as a mountain goat. Owen was born and raised in Juneau and has the type of intuition in the field that would make Magellan blush. I would give him a direction to our next point, throw in a distance, and he proved to me time and time again that the shortest distance between two points is not always a straight line--especially in SE Alaska. Even when we did get to a slope that even a rock would think twice about traversing, Owen would mentally map out a route that seemed impossible (and a radio call away from search and rescue joining us), step into the abyss--while keeping his thumbs tucked under his backpack strap and shotgun sling (for some reason, I kept picturing Johnny Appleseed as he made his way from town to town)--and casually, as if walking the paved streets of any southern Illinois town, saunter down the cliff (and I am not using the term cliff in exaggeration). Naturally we followed. Most of the time on our asses.

Even mountain goats need a quick nap.

As reward for our hard-earned changes in elevation--both ascending and descending--we were again rewarded with some great scenery.

Muskegs were numerous in the area and a nice reprieve from bushwacking.

A well used bear trail in the muskeg.

Up next is Prince of Wales Island for two weeks to do more surveys in a couple remote watersheds. I will update as I can.

Back in Alaska...

So, I am back in Alaska for another field season. This time we will be spending a considerable amount of time camping since the two projects I am helping on are in spots that are a bit more off the beaten path. I have been here just over a week which started with a 3-day training session on Prince of Wales Island where, with the exception of about 6 hours, it rained the entire time. The rest of the time has been in Juneau where we have been purchasing required gear, finishing up some last minute logistics, and painting 1500+ wood chips an assortment of colors (more on this a bit later in the season).

We take a float plane out of Juneau tomorrow morning to start our first set of Goshawk surveys at a lake about an hour away. We will be working out of a base camp that sounds like it will provide relatively cushy conditions--complete with a wall tent, cooking capabilities, cots, and surrounded by an electric bear fence (which we have been duly instructed to avoid).

Following the first round of Goshawk surveys, I return to Juneau for a few days to wrap up logistics then head back to Prince of Wales for two weeks of trying my best to stay somewhat dry while conducting stream surveys in a couple watersheds near Hydaburg. We have a great local crew and I am excited to learn more about the ecology of the area from those who have spent their lives immersed in it.

Just as I did last time I was here, I will update as I can. Pictures will eventually follow. Unfortunately, I will be leaving my camera behind tomorrow because of weight restriction on our flight  but I will make it a point to take some pictures with our field cameras.

Winter, at last...

Snow finally made it to Wisconsin with our first measurable snowfall in early January.

The ever-so-hardy pines of the northern states.

What a crazy winter we have had. I seem to be one of the relatively few people who enjoy Wisconsin winters. As a matter of fact, I would have to say it is my second favorite season, surpassed only by fall. It is such a peaceful time to be outdoors; the snow seems to absorb all the noise that comes with our busy, never-enough-time-in-a-day world; there are fewer people venturing out once the thermometer registers below freezing; and it is a great time to recognize all of those hearty creatures that have found adaptive ways to weather less than ideal conditions.



A dark-eyed junco enjoying the fresh snow...

then again, some creatures aren't quite as lucky.

So, take the opportunity to get outdoors in winter. Take a short hike. Strap on a pair of snowshoes. Try cross-country skiing for the first time. For the adventurous, pitch a tent--there is nothing like waking up to the silence of a winter morning, snuggled in a toasty sleeping bag, the cold gently nibbling at your exposed nose.

Contrary to winters of recent past, this one may truly be short-lived. I say enjoy it while it's here.

It's been a while...

So, I have been an absentee blogger for over a year and feel it is the right time to rehash A Life Outside. I will be the first to admit that the past year has been a bit of a struggle for me. I like to think of it as a year of soul-searching, trying to find out what I want to be when I "grow up." And, admittedly, I am still searching.

Over the past couple of years I have made some new discoveries in the interests I have-- mainly writing and photography. I still have a overwhelming interest in our natural resources and my goal is to combine these three interests into a career.  As I have found out, it will not be any easy task; however, it is one I am going to do my best to make happen. So, I will continue to use this blog to relay some of my outdoor experiences (I know Joe, I missed relaying a summer of chasing spruce grouse in some of the most remote places of WI), my thoughts on natural resource issues, and my hopeful journey to a new career.

Here are a few pictures to get going and brush the rust off of my blogging layoff.

One of the female spruce grouse we tracked this past summer. If you look closely you can see the "bling" she is wearing--on her breast is the radio transmitter, on her left leg is an aluminum band, and on her right leg are colored bands to aid in positively identifying her while in the field.

I like the composition of this picture of a drake mallard taken at Horicon, however I haven't been able to correct the overexposure (still learning Photoshop).

All good things must come to an end...

A momentous occasion occurred since my last posting.  A once-in-a-lifetime event that relegates one's personal thoughts to bucket lists and mid-life crises.  Like myself, those who have been there know what I am talking about.  Those who are nearing it have prepared in some way, maybe unknowingly, maybe with anticipation, maybe with trepidation, and maybe even morphologically (damn gravity).  Yep, Cathy hit the big 4-0 and I was honored to help her and her friends celebrate the occasion. 

Although Cathy had picked up some sort of unfortunate bug/virus/mutation that left her a bit under the weather she was a trooper and slugged her way through the festivities of the day.  A beautiful log cabin with beautiful views overlooking Lynn Passage was rented and the momentous event brought together friends and family, some of which haven't seen one another for quite some time.

The log cabin is in the left side of the picture.  Great views from the hillside.

Sunsets have been scarce since I came to Juneau.  It was worth the wait.

This is from the same porch (just a different angle) as the last sunset picture but nearly two hours later.  It was a long, memorable and fitting sunset to celebrate Cathy's birthday.

We saw this baby porky (Erethizon dorsatum) during a walk.  I couldn't resist throwing it in here.

I returned yesterday from working in Crooked Creek which is located on the Kuskokwim River in the northeast portion of an area known as the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta in western Alaska.  The trip required a series of plane rides with each plane getting progressively smaller the closer we got to our destination.  The village has about 130 residents and is only accessed either by boat or air (via a single ~2000' long slightly bumpy gravel landing strip).  Traffic within the village consists mostly of ATV's (and snowmobiles in winter) with a limited number of personal vehicles also being used. 

The airport (the blue building) and the beginning of the runway.

The surrounding landscape is made up of tundra and mountains.  Seeing, and experiencing, the tundra was a first for me and I am completely awestruck and amazed at the beauty and uniqueness of it.  We spent most of our time walking through it, digging in it, and identifying (Cathy did most of the id's, but I managed to help on occasion) the plant life which resides on it.  A lot of steps were like walking on a waterbed (which occasionally sprung a leak - waterproof boots were a must) with solid ground randomly interspersed.  I also experienced permafrost for the first time and even though I was well aware of its existence I was fascinated by the concept of frozen ground being as close as 14" from the surface in August. 

View from one of the hillsides overlooking Crooked Creek and the Kuskokwim River.

Bog cranberries (Vaccinium oxycoccos) and lichens - both pretty common vegetation on the tundra.

View of mostly black spruce (Picea mariana) from one of our work sites.

We stayed in a lodge which is only one of three places in the village which has running water.  The remaining homes rely on a central area called a washeteria for laundry and potable water.  With the exception of the places with running water the sewage facilities consist of "honeybuckets" which are emptied by residents into the sewer lagoon. Cathy and I were there to delineate wetlands for proposed projects which would eventually bring updated plumbing, sewer and road facilities to the village.

The lodge from the helicopter - thanks for the picture Karl.

I enjoyed my first helicopter ride which was a fantastic way to see the landscape of the delta. A land survey crew that was staying at the lodge were nice enough to let me join them as they flew to area mountain tops to retrieve some of their survey equipment (thanks again Karl and Sarah!).

I'm in there somewhere.

More mountains.

View of the open tundra in the area. 

One of the mountain ranges as seen from the helicopter.

From the top of one of the mountains.

I was hoping to see a grizzly which has been eluding me since I got here but it wasn't meant to be - looks like I will have to return at some point.  It was by no means a let down as I did see a couple of bull moose (Alces alces) and a cow during what I would classify as early rut activity.  The pilot was kind enough to circle them and allow me to take some pictures, which proved difficult while trying to hold the door open and steady the camera with the zoom lens on.  I did manage a few non-blurry pictures.

A bull approaching the cow and a second bull noticing.

Hormones kicking in...

...still pretty early to chance an all out battle.  Admittedly, I sure would like to have witnessed one.

The lonely - for now - cow.

I am headed back to Wisconsin with a number of firsts I can cross off my mental checklist.  The trip has been an amazing opportunity for me and would not have been possible if it wasn't for Cathy and her crazy idea to let me help her out for the summer.  I owe a deep felt gratitude for her generosity and will be forever thankful for the opportunity, her willingness to put up with all of my questions, leading and pointing the way in various explorations, and for giving me numerous places to stay the last few months. 

Thanks, dear "old" (however, not quite as old as I am) friend.