The amblings of a four-legged creature do not always lead to a biped-friendly trail, but today we were lucky to come across one of the best trails I’ve ever experienced in Southeast Alaska. The beach disappeared behind swaying boughs of alders as we left the sand and were greeted by spongy moss and green. Endless green. We veered to the north and began our penetration into the thick temperate rain forest with no expectation of what we’d find or how hard the trail would be. Our trusty guides were long gone but left us evidence of their presence, mostly in small black piles we avoided trampling on. Fallen logs completely covered in moss had very distinct sections cleared of bark and greenery, a sure sign of their continued use.
The trail seemed random to us, but all the undergrowth that hampered our progress was precisely why the trail existed: blueberries, huckleberries, and devil’s club. As we snaked through the understory and headed to the larger trees ahead, signs of the summer’s future berry crop were evident in small urn-shaped blooms and spikes of pale flowers. Sitka black-tailed deer hair was snagged on several branches and on another were short brown hairs, almost certainly coastal brown bear. After a few moments of reflection, we hoped for a trail back to shore so we could avoid a true bushwhack. Perhaps our phantom guide smelled the sweet scent of a cockle stranded at low tide or the desire to munch on sedges near the forest edge. Whichever the reason, the trail forked precisely when we needed it to and made an easy beeline for the shore. The forests of Chichigof Island have been traversed for thousands of years by noses much sharper than ours. This forest loop couldn’t have been completed more efficiently.
Just a short run to the south, an ageless stream has left its indelible mark on the limestone of Basket Bay. Arching over the tidal stream like a barreling wave made of stone, the grotto was painted with diffuse afternoon light. The tattling of a belted kingfisher served as the soundtrack for this otherworldly spot. Kayakers and cruisers shared the space and each found their own mental grotto to slip into, away from the pressures of “the real world,” protected from the stress of modern life by a living, breathing forest above and an impenetrable stone ceiling. Sitting in a salmon stream flowing beneath a rain forest, we were the forest.
