The Babies

 

Some more scauip photos because they are so darned cute.

And we conclude with a photo of the Common Loons, taken from a distance and edited with a significant crop.

'Night, Y'all

 

As Mum Scaup stood watch nearby, these babies anchored themselves in the flowers for a nap.

A Kayak, a Camera, and an 83-Year-Old Woman:

What could Go Wrong?

 

Down the road a mile is Tern Lake, named after the Arctic Terns that nest there and raise their offspring before migrating to Antarctica, where they enjoy the Antarctic summers.   That migration route, round trip, is about 25,000 miles!

 

Because they are so lightweight, the birds are able to sleep while gliding and never flapping their wings.

But, I digress.   Decades ago, Tern Lake was called Mud Lake, and that name fit it exactly.  It was swampy, dotted with grassy islands, and hosted many, many terns during the summer.

Things changed over time and the marsh began to have a reliable water content stretching over three-quarters of a mile.   Road construction, the 1964 Great Alaska Earthquake, and a changing water table may all account for this.

After I moved to the area with my husband, I always thought I’d like to have a small boat to row around the lake and see what was there.  We never did.

Then, after I was widowed, I bought small kayak—about 9-1/2 feet long, bright blue plastic.   It’s a Swifty model called Perception, and weighs about 44 lbs.  It’s meant for the casual kayaker who paddles around on ponds and calm lakes.   It is most definitely NOT a white-water kayak.

 

I never considered how easy or difficult it would be to get into the kayak and then get out, and therein lies the ongoing problem.

It wasn’t too bad when I was in my late 60s.   I’d find a way to beach the kayak until it was steady and then find a way to stand up, even though my butt was lower than my feet.   Then I began asking tourists at the pullout to drag me onshore.  

That could not continue.   Finally, I devised the method I use today.

I found the perfect spot near the area I like to explore first.  Its behind a guardrail along the highway where there’s a small opening in the trees where I position the kayak.  My cameras and other gear are in a waterproof bag that I put next to the water, a place where I can reach it once I’ve launched.

Once in the kayak, I scooch down the gentle slope until I’m floating.   Then I retrieve the camera bag and off I go.

Getting out was a bit more of a problem.   Again, there’s the problem of standing when my butt is lower than my feet.   The solution was a rope tied to a birch tree.  

 

I ram the kayak onto shore until it’s stabilized, then grab the rope and pull myself into a standing position with the aid of large knots.   

By the way, the camera and gear are once again in the waterproof bag and already onshore.

Most of the time this method goes well.   If my trigger finger locks up, that’s another thing to deal with.

Just recently, after a pleasant float around the lake, I decided to use my phone to document my ingenious method.

I steady the kayak even more by putting the paddle from shore to the kayak and I can push down to help me stand.

Everything went according to plan until I stood and took my first step on the ground.  Backwards I went.  I wound up on my back, my legs draped over the kayak, and only my PFD (life vest) held my head above the water.

I am not unconscious.

I am not distressed and only a little bit in trouble.

Now, this was a fix.  I couldn’t roll to the right, the obvious direction, because I’d be in the lake.

I couldn’t roll to the left because that was not only uphill, but my left shoulder is almost useless.

 

I still had hold of the rope but was above any knots.

I managed, reaching over my torso until I had hold of a small willow stump.   Then, I was able to grab a branch farther away and pull myself around.

Finally, I was standing.  For a moment.  I’d walked around to pull the kayak farther onshore, and suddenly I was sitting on my butt.

 

I blame all this on the rubber shoes I wear.   No support and not much of a heel.

 

 

But all's well that ends well, right? 

Rotting Broccoli Leads to Playing Hooky.

 The broccoli was stinking up the garage, so it was time for it to go bye-bye.

We don't have garbage service here.   We have to haul our own to a transfer station with big roll-on/roll-off containers.

And the broccoli was in a kitchen garbage bag, and the bag was in a plastic trash container in my garage to keep the bears from getting in it.   I don't know if bears like broccoli or if the stench of spoiled broccoli would attract them, but nevertheless, it was time to haul my garbage.  

Those big containers are an 18-mile round-trip drive from me in one direction, or 25 in the other.   I decided to combine the trash haul with picking up litter at a site near Cooper Landing.    So, I loaded up the trash in Behemoth — that's what I call my F-150 pickup, which is too big for me — grabbed my camera with the big lens and some Gatorade, and away we went.

The very poisonous baneberry.

Red Baneberry

Trash dumped, I thought I'd tidy up all the pullouts on the way home.   I did one and realized I was tired of picking up after litterers, but went to a site near Mile 40.   I cleaned up two big pullouts and part of the highway before I discovered I was really, really tired of it.

Sight-seeing.   That's what I'd do.   A day off from litter and some nice scenery.  However, to reach my destination, I had to go by Wildman's in Cooper Landing, which is a many-purpose store that gets a lot of customers.   Espresso drinks, sandwiches, general groceries and merchandise, liquor store, and ice cream, both regular and soft-serve.

Ice cream it was in a home-made waffle cone that was so tender I wound up eating Bordeaux cherry ice cream from a wad of paper towels.

Bordeaux cherry in a waffle cone.   Mjust be almost a pint of ice cream in a single scoop.

I finished the ice cream by the time I reached an 18-mile scenic loop called Skilak Lake Road.

Once I reached mile one, I pulled over to the left side and slowly drove along with my window open and holding my phone out so Merlin ID could pick up the sounds of any birds.  This is a gravel road with a slow speed limit and people are used to sight-seers stopping anywhere.

It heard only a robin, so that was a bust.   But the fireweed blooms were outrageous.   This country was savaged by a lightning-caused wildfire in 2019 and the fireweed explosion the next summer was beyond compare.   It's still doing nicely.

At an overlook near the top of the hill, I stopped and was approached by a tourist from Pennsylvania.   He nodded at the safety vest I was still wearing and asked if I worked here.

No, I told him, I was picking up litter.   Then he said he and his companions were just talking about how clean the roads were on the Kenai Peninsula.

"I only cover 40 miles, " I said.  

"Then there must be a lot of others like you out there!"

Music to my heart!

On I went, driving toward the west entrance/exit.   Didn't see much, other than a common loon that disappeared before I could get the camera ready, a couple ducks that were too far away to ID, and a few LBBs (Little Brown Bird) flyovers.

Where did that loon go?

No bears.

It occurred to me as I neared the end of the drive that I hadn't seen any litter.  Then, a few things started to appear--a crushed soda bottle, a plastic cup, a piece of paper.

I pulled into the welcome sign at the entrance and walked back to get them.  Holy smokes!  There was a lot of litter around the signs.   As I began to get it, there were six mosquitoes on the back of my hand!

Some other time, mosquitoes!

Out on the highway and heading home, I saw a cow moose with her little calf.   Made the whole excursion worthwhile.

Curious baby

Mom's portrait.

All in Good Time

What can I say? It's summer in Alaska, and I've been busy both photographing birds, animals, and wildflowers, as well as engaging in my usual practice of picking up litter for 40 miles along the Seward highway. 

Over the next few days, I'll post a few photos along with some explanations. Short and quick because I have to get out on the road. The vegetation is way ahead of me.

First off, the Tern Lake trumpeter swans hatched six cygnets and then took them into seclusion on the far side of the lake.   This is their usual behavior.

The American Dippers, formerly called water ouzels, which is a much cooler name, had three eggs hatch.

So many mouths to feed!

Sometimes the parents weren't fast enough with the grub, so the fledgling foraged on its own.

The Common Loons appear to have one chick.   It 's riding on an adult's back.   They were way too far away for my lens.

This photo needs an explanation.   One parent is behind the loon carrying the chick, and feeding it.   All you can see is the adult's head.

The two photos below show one red-necked grebe parent leaving the nest and the other ready to take its turn incubating what appear to be four eggs.   This is the second nest the red-necked grebes made this season.   

The first nest they made did not yield any chicks.   The reason could be many--something like a gull, eagle, or otter got the eggs.   The eggs may not have been fertile.  Anything.

They promptly built another nest some distance away and, by my reckoning, are close to the 23-day incubation period.   I hope to watch baby grebes soon.

What these greater and lesser scaup are up to is anyone's guess.   Hoping to see their chicks as I consider them the cutest baby ducks of all.

Hanging out with the scaup was a pair of ring-neck ducks.

Note the white markings on their bills.

As for litter, I am currently working in Turnagain Pass, having walked--little by little-- the 30 miles from home.   My current count of bags filled with litter is around 200.

And off I go.

National American Bald Eagle Day

 In honor of  National American Bald Eagle Day, here are some photos of our national bird.   All these photos, except for a couple,  were taken within two miles of my home.

Four sub-adult eagles on a single branch.

Juvenile eagle on a tussock

This one looks like a fledgling

Too far away and highly cropped, but I still like the look.

Bronzed eagle with frost.

Note the eagle's breath.

Eagle in winter,

These eagles were bathing in a marsh near Portage.

Facing off over a slmon scrap.

Fighting for the salmon.

Eagle in flight.   Note the eye between the wing feathers.

Eagle at sunset.  Photo taken from a kayak.