Mitkof Island, Ideal Cove and Petersburg
Exposed by an exceptionally low tide this morning, the water fountain spouts of clams squirted skyward from the muck at Ideal Cove. Ancient stories tell of the clams’ propensity for blathering gossip about the other animals; as a result of these indiscretions, the clams were buried in the sand. Today we see their arching spouts as they continue to attempt gossiping, unsuccessfully now with their water- filled maws.
The temperate rainforest held vignettes of other stories: the heartfelt songs of an amorous hermit thrush rang sweetly through the moss-draped forest; winter wrens rushed through songs of their fitness and vigor; shooting stars flaunted gaudy colors in advertisement to pollinating bumblebees; the more subdued sprinkles of yellow and purple violets highlighted the forest edges; piles of moose turds with individual pellets the shape of elongated milk duds gave evidence that others had walked alongside these boardwalk trails.
For the afternoon we were dockside in the small town of Petersburg. The industrious residents worked on their fishing gear, outfitted boats with nets, repaired hydraulics and brandished sandpaper alternately with paint and brush. Someone’s new skiff for their purse seiner drew appreciative stares and a few questions of, “what is that stubby boat with no rear end?”
As the tide turned and flooded, it crept up the shoreline, returning reflections to the scenic houses and net barns skirting the harbor. The soundtrack playing background to this bustle of activity? The staccato of chicken-chirpy bald eagles, communicating their wants, needs and desires through their soprano cackles.
With the gentle pitter-pattering of an evening rain, we look forward to tomorrow and new stories of the forests and waters of Southeast Alaska.
