Where am I?

 I know.   I know.  I've fallen behind on the Africa Journals.

I have a good excuse:

 

 

BEFORE: 

Jerome Lake pullout along the  Seward Highway.

 

AFTER:

Plus about five miles of highway ditches before the nice weather turned nasty.

She's All Mine (with a little help from my friend)

Squeezed between the flanks of two steep mountains is a sliver of water and, though small by Alaskan standards, this water has a name—Jerome Lake.  Its scenic value, however, more than measures up to another Alaskan standard.

Perhaps a couple hundred feet wide and a half-mile long, the water of Jerome Lake is a master of illusion.  Because the mountain on its southern side keeps it in shadow most of the day, the water often looks black, but in actuality it is crystal clear and not very deep, and you can see the bottom.

So clear you can see their feet.

The two-lane Seward highway, the only highway that provides access to the Kenai Peninsula,  is carved into the rock of the mountain on the north side.  Two small pullouts give travelers a chance to stop and enjoy the scenery or drop a line in the water.  One pullout is simply a wide spot in the road.

Approaching Jerome Lake from the north in autumn.  Cars are parked at each of the small pullouts.

The other is a paved pull-through where RVs often stop overnight, permitted by Alaska’s lax (or lacking) laws on such things.   It was this spot I drove into a couple days ago.  Twenty feet or so below me, the ice is slowly melting, leaving a narrow band of free water along one edge.

If I had one word that best describes Jerome Lake, it would be serene.   Even with traffic rushing by, I always find the lake peaceful, like an oasis of calm in a busy world.   With that in mind, what happened when I stopped at the lake the other day marks an incident in nature that I’ll never forget.

A pair of mallards paddled placidly about in the shallow water at the head of the lake.  To my right, behind some still-leafless brush, a pair of Barrow’s Goldeneye ducks floated in that strip of water.  

Then, I saw a flurry of black and white wings as two Goldeneye drakes fought with each other.   Suddenly, the mallard drake zoomed across the water, feet and wings a-blur, right into the middle of the kerfuffle and broke up the fight.

I stood there transfixed.  

The mallard paddled back to his hen.

 

The vanquished Goldeneye scooted away, looking a bit grumpy.

The victorious Goldeneye rejoined his blue-eyed hen and drifted off to the right.

And I was left on the shore, agape at what I had just witnessed--one species interfering in the mating fights of another.

Or perhaps it all goes back to serene, that one-word description of Jerome Lake,  and that was exactly how the mallard wanted it.

 

Is Home Here or There?

It has been said that home is where the heart is, but when the subject is migrating waterfowl, how the heck do you know where their hearts are?

I guess the predominant factor is where they raise their young, and if that is the determining criteria, then the headline of this post should be "They're Home!"

I am a member of a Facebook group called Birds of Alaska, where people post photos of birds they've seen in Alaska.   It's much like an online bird-watchers group, and it has been going crazy lately as ducks and geese and songbirds return from their winter vacations to build nests, lay eggs, and raise a new generation that will follow their parent's behavior for years on end.

I carry a camera with me everywhere I go outside my home.   Usually it's s small point and shoot with a 20X zoom.   I used it a few days ago to take photos of a mallard pair at Tern Lake.   They were about 50 feet across a shallow pond and it took every bit of zoom to get these photos.

I watched as the hen moved closer to the dry grasses along the bank.   Had I not seen her go there, I doubt I could have seen her in her perfect camouflage.

This coloration will help protect her from bald and golden eagles as she sits on the nest, slowly incubating a batch of mallardeggs.



The drake, meanwhile, stayed in open water, ready to protect her from me, or perhaps from other mallard drakes.

A day later, I drove a short distance from this area to another lake in a narrow pass through two mountains.   Because this area is in shade most of the day, spring is a bit later.

Two Barrow's Goldeneyes were padding about in a small puddle of open water near the shore.   This time, I had the good camera and the excellent lens.

Note how clear and calm the water is.   Not only can you see the bottom perfectly, you can see the ducks
feet.

The showy drake.

And the incredible, blue-eyed hen.

Welcome home, friends.   We are all so happy to see you again.

Perspective

Sometimes you need to look back,

To appreciate where you are.

The Joke's on You, Mother Nature

I woke before the alarm clock went off.  In the early dawn,  I took one look out the window and immediately wanted to go back to bed until next May.

Not funny, Mother Nature.  Not funny at all.

Alas, hibernating for the next six months was not an option.  I had to run the mail route today and that white stuff drastically changed my plans as to how I was going to do that.

Sigh.  I'll bet my bed was still warm.   Oh, well, only 130 miles to go.

Yes, Mother Nature, it's pretty.  I'll admit that.

Very nice.  Not the wet black ice underneath, though.

Let's just say the drive was a bit interesting.  No, that's not my truck upside down in the ditch.

I made it to the post office in Hope just fine--45 mph for the first 20 miles, then smooth sailing after that.

Two hours later, the truck is still there and it's occupants were walking around, waiting for the wrecker.   Two miles down the road, another vehicle was upside down in the ditch.

Tern Lake was stunning.

 

 

Jerome Lake was beautiful, too.

By afternoon, most of the snow was gone, as you can see in the above pictures.

So while Mother Nature played a trick on us by dropping the first snowfall two weeks earlier than the average date, the joke was on her:

That's right.  Brand new studded snow tires that I just bought Monday  to take advantage of a sale.  Joke's on you, MN.  You thought I wouldn't be ready, didn't you?

Wait!  Didn't someone once warn that it wasn't nice to fool Mother Nature?

More Kids on the Block

My dog Spike was merrily chowing down on tender dandelion shoots this evening at Jerome Lake.

Unfortunately, he was right on the shoulder of the highway.

He bristled at my suggestion that he move farther away from the traffic before he became road pizza.

 

I was about ten feet from him and he didn't see me until I spoke.  I guess we're too big for them to see.

Meanwhile, down at Tern Lake, the grebe was busy with its nightly ablutions.

Finally, a break in this rainy week.

Not a great photo but after a week of rain, I'll take a picture of anything that doesn't look like a rain cloud.

Moments that take our breath away

Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, 

but by the number of moments that take our breath away.

--Anonymous

 Three years ago this month as I was heading for home after picking up litter, I came upon Jerome Lake in an enchanted moment and took this photograph if the lake and fireweed in pewter-colored atmosphere.

I think it's exquisite.  It's right out of the camera, with no Photo Shop-ping or tinkering.

I made it my PC's desktop photo a few months ago and every time I climbed up to the loft and approached my computer, this photo took my breath away.  I also changed the appearance of Windows to eggplant and seafoam green, to coordinate with the photo.

A couple evenings ago, when the setting sun turned the air golden, I went back to Jerome Lake to see if I could improve on the photo.  I've posted the results here for your perusing, while I'm working on the next-to-last Resurrection Pass Journals story.

Too bad about the sun flare in this shot, because I really like the light shining through the fireweed blossom petals on the right.

I really like this photo, even with the sun flare.  It depicts exactly what I mean when I say, "golden air," those minutes when the set is setting and still a warm color.

This one's close, but its composition is unbalanced.  This color is a bit gold and a bit silver.

All silver and too late.  The sun's already behind the mountain.   And, again with the balance.  The fireweed aren't tall enough in the original spot where I took the picture, so I had to move downhill.

The original again.  I guess there's no improving on the original.   There must be a life truism in that statement.  Or, perhaps, enchanted moments are enchanting because they come so seldom.

Click on all these to enlarge, then click again to enlarge to full screen.

Let me know if any of them take away your breath.