Ice Treasures

I went down to Tern Lake late this afternoon and found the thickness of the ice has increased to about four inches and more.

Here are some photos I took while walking around on the ice.

Tower of bubbles

Cold temperatures have hoar frost forming on everything, here on a leaf.

Hoar frost crystals

Double bubbles

Ice crystals

Tern Lake with etching from ice skates....and rocks thrown onto the ice.

Hoar frost building on a stone.

Tower of bubbles

Aha!   I was wondering where this handicapped parking sign was.

I suspect it was buried on a giant pile of snow a few years ago and the snow plow pushed snow and sign onto the ice.

Another tower of bubbles captured as the ice formed.

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Hoar frost flowers on ice.

This is where the above photo was taken, to give your a sense of proportion.

This is a fracture "sculpture" created when the ice freezes and cracks.

This is a dead, spawned-out salmon, suspended belly-up beneath the ice

See the head and gills?

And this is hoar frost building on the tail of the salmon that is protruding through the ice.

Another fracture creation.

And another.

A multitude of bubbles suspended in the ice.

 As I was walking back across the ice towards the parking area, I surprised a still living salmon beneath the ice.   I followed, trying to get a photo, but it was too fast for me.     Tomorrow, weather permitting, I go back with ice skates and try to photograph a salmon beneath the ice.

No Such Thing as Trash Service around Here

No, there's no trash service in these rural communities.   No such thing as wheeling your city-approved garbage can out to the sidewalk the night before the garbage truck comes along.  For one thing, there's no sidewalks.   For another, if some idiots didn't shoot the can full of holes like they do the highway signs, the bears would have lots of fun getting into the garbage which the ravens and magpies would then carry off hither and yon and the whole country would look like a landfill.

Around here, we haul our own trash to a borough transfer site and throw it in large green roll-off containers, which are now built to keep the bears and birds from enjoying the trash.   That's as opposed to a few years ago when someone dumped trash on top of a bear in the dumpster, then ran like hell when he realized what he'd done.   Or, the ravens and magpies would carry off the better-smelling trash and spread it hither and yon until the country looked like a landfill.

At the Cooper Landing site there's a sign recommending you honk your horn in case there's a bear trying to figure a way into those scrumptious-smelling green containers.  Before the Moose Pass transfer site was moved out of the center of town a few years ago, I was picking up litter at the site alongside a chainlink fence that had plastic strips woven through it so you couldn't see through it.   I left when something BIG bumped into the fence on the other side.   It wasn't a dog!

So, with that in mind, I loaded up my household trash this afternoon and headed for the trash transfer site in Cooper Landing, about nine miles from home.

Bright, sunny, and warm enough at 17 degrees,  and two hours until the late football game started, I left two pots of soup stock simmering on the stove and headed for the dumpsters.  I'd been seeing some litter along the side of the road the past two weeks while I did the rural mail route, and figured I'd stop along the way and pick that up.   Cooper Landing got just a dusting of snow earlier this week, so the litter was visible.

Well, one piece of litter always leads to the next piece of litter, and before I reached the transfer site I'd filled four bags with litter AND found a brand new fishing pole still in its plastic sleeve.   It was right along the shoulder of the road, easily visible, and had been there at least two weeks.  I thought it was a long strip of plastic wrap, the kind that peels off freight and goes airborne.

This is the Cooper Landing transfer site.   Somebody considerately left his old summer tires in case someone else could use them.  It's kind of a swap meet thing.

A guy pulled in the dumpster site and I asked him if he was a fisherman, then presented him with the  new pole.  He was thrilled with it.   One piece, laminated fiberglass, copper-colored.   I made his day, he said.

But the best thing about this afternoon was seeing parts of Quartz Creek that I hadn't paid attention to before.   A couple groups from Copper Landing do the litter pick up along the last four miles of this area (I do the first five), so I had no reason to be walking this area.   I'm sure the litter I found today was tossed out since they had completed the route for the season.

I started back, stopping again to pick up litter.   Then I remembered the two pots of soup stock simmering on the stove and decided to do the "return" portion tomorrow.

Highbush cranberries clinging to the branch.

Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds...

Except this courier.   Except this courier when it snows.   Except this courier when there's six to twelve inches of snow on the Hope Road and it takes 45 minutes to drive 16 miles at 30 mph in four-wheel drive with studded snow tires.

Oh, and deliver mail at the same time.   Not this courier.

It all began Monday morning because Sunday evening there wasn't a hint of what was going to happen while I was deep into Daniel Silva's sixth novel about Israeli "operative" Gabriel Allon.   I wasn't looking out the window and I had no idea of the mischief occurring out there.

So the alarm goes off at 8 A.M., and I'm out of the shower at 8:15, and THEN I look out the window.

And then I cuss.   Out loud.

Four inches of new snow where then had been none when I went to bed.

And I hurry to get dressed and head to the garage where I unload half a truck load of firewood from the back of my truck because the mini-van still has summer tires and no way was I going to deliver mail in a car with summer tires. 

Pablo's pissed, as usual, because he heard the alarm and that means I'm leaving home.  Too bad, Pablo.   Erin's out of town and I'm doing the mail route for her.

You just stay in the house and keep warm, Pablo.   I shall return.

We're off and rolling and it's snowing heavily.   The swans are still at Tern Lake because the lake has yet to freeze.

The Seward Highway wasn't bad at all because the highway crews do that first.

Twenty-five miles later, though, I reach the Hope Road.   This is a low priority road as far as seeing quality time with the snow plows are concerned.

Two ruts down the road weren't bad.   Meeting other cars was okay, too, because the snow as fairly light.   We each pulled over as far as we could and passed each other slowly.


Made it to Hope almost on schedule, picked up the mail, and headed out.


A yellow-legged sandpiper sat on a stump on the side of the road.   What?!!!   This time of year???

Oh.   Not a sandpiper after all.

This is when things got dicey.   The snow was wetter and more tracked up, the kind that likes to toss you around just to make sure you are paying attention.   And have a death grip on the steering wheel.

Frosted mini-wheats?

And a hemlock down across part of the road.

And 45 minutes later, I reached the Seward Highway and headed  for Cooper Landing to deliver more mail.

And it was fine.   The storm was breaking up and everything was wonderful.

I glanced at Jerome Lake as I went by and pulled into a rest area.    This is the strangest looking ice I've ever seen.

And driving conditions in Cooper Landing?   Ten miles from my house, there was almost no snow.

Pretty colors, though.

A raven finds something to eat.

Just another day delivering mail in Alaska.

Home again.   Now to spend some quality time with Pablo.

Out and About When Winter is Late Arriving

No snow yet and the lakes remain open.   Trumpeter swans stop over to chow down on their journey south.

Most of the autumn colors have faded to shades of amber and brown but there's a beauty in that.

Take a look: