Folks on the island of Hawaii live in a dynamic environment.  Sometimes, though, that environment gets a little too dynamic for comfort.  They are living with the most active volcano in the world.  Since 1983, Kilauea and its associated vents and craters have been in a continuous state of eruption, piling new material onto the island and transforming the landscape.  The eruption has been docile by the standards of volcanology; a steady stream of slow moving lava flows periodically switching among any number of openings in the Earth.  At present, the main crater of Kilauea is in the 7th year of venting mostly gasses while some 20 miles east, lava is flowing from a peak known as Pu’u O’o.  For most of the last 30 years, the bulk of the lava has been sent southeast toward the sea.

In June of last year, a surge of lava from the Pu’u O’o Crater worked its way down the northeast flank taking a more inland route than ever before during the modern eruption.  The lava was making a bee-line for the town of Pahoa.  Pahoa is the nearest community to where I have been staying on the Big Island.  It’s the last town one passes through on State Highway 130 before heading off to the various subdivisions and shore accesses on the east end of the Big Island.

As the lava flow approached the edge of town, it not only threatened the community itself, but everyone was worried it would push across the only road in to and out of the east end of the island.  To prepare for this possibility, a road was hastily constructed east from Hawaii Volcanoes National Park in the summer of 2014.  Fortunately for Pahoa and everyone living east of there, the lava’s advance toward the town came to a halt before it swallowed the town’s garbage transfer station; the first of many buildings it would have engulfed.

The emergency road stands ready however, should the volcano send more new land toward Pahoa and State Highway 130.  Until then, it is closed to the public.  Both locals and the National Park Service don’t want the extra traffic.

Due to the nature of my job, however, I had an opportunity to drive this unique road.  A modest gravel path that hugs the undulations of recently cooled lava.  And I do mean recent.  Some of this rock was molten during the last Presidential election.

It was a really cool opportunity to stand on the newest piece of American real estate a few feet closer to California than just a couple years ago.  At present, there is no lava dumping into the sea anywhere on the island, so for now, this is as new as it gets.  But given the history of the islands and Kilauea especially, it won’t be long before the flows shift back toward the Pacific and the volcano’s construction resumes.  It may turn out that I was one of the few people to drive this road before the next surge of lava once again makes it impassible.

Fishing in Alaska can be a competitive sport thanks to the abundant wildlife that also enjoys fresh fish.  Take this little guy in Glacier Bay.  I’m casting off the dock when along comes a river otter with some sort of flatfish in its mouth.

He pops up on part of the dock and proceeds to chow down on his catch pausing to make sure my colleague and I are not getting too close to maybe muscle in on his dinner.  I saw a lot of sea otters in Glacier Bay, but this was a river otter.  The smaller size and monochromatic fur easily distinguish it from its cousin.

A few days later, it was the bald eagles in the estuary of the Chilkoot River outside of Haines.  These bold birds thought that when they saw a fish struggling near the surface, there was an easy meal to be had.  It seemed to take them until the last minute to notice that the fish they saw was already claimed by the human standing on the bank.  I had some very close fly-bys related to a nice Dolly Varden Trout I was keeping for supper.

There was a moment or two where I wasn’t sure the eagle would break off its attempt at the fish laying three feet from me; to the point where my brain had begun the fight or flight thought process.  Another half-second and maybe I would’ve been ducking.

The Chilkoot River was between salmon runs while I was there, so I suspect the eagles were getting hungry in anticipation of the arrival of thousands of Sockeyes in just a couple weeks.  By mid-July, they probably would have paid me no mind.  Like so much else in life, cool wildlife encounters sometimes come down to simple timing.

Glacier Bay National Park is a place I experienced on foot for a few hours last summer and it was a lot of fun.  A short hike with my fishing gear in tow yielded a rain-soaked afternoon of wilderness solitude.  But Glacier Bay is a water-oriented place and is best seen from some sort of watercraft.  You can cover far more area and see much more of the exotic wildlife the park has to offer.  So this time out, I availed myself of one of the guided boat tours available every day in summer.

The good ship St. Phillip didn’t even push off from the dock before the first few humpback whales were spotted, thus setting the tone for a spectacular day.  Eleven hours and many, many photographs later, I had a solid, first-hand appreciation for one of the most fabulous places on the entire planet. The symphony of land and water and life does not care that it impresses you, but it does.  The most incredible thing about a wilderness like Glacier Bay is its indifference to your presence.  A brown bear beach-combing for a meal pays no attention to the metal craft floating a hundred meters offshore despite the clicking shutters and grumbling engine.  The massive wall of ice doesn’t care who is watching when it sloughs a hundred tons of itself into the ocean.  The frozen peaks are unconcerned that the clouds have given way and exposed them to human eyes for the first time in a week.  This is a place where the dominance of natural forces is obvious to anyone who visits.

I watched a brown bear overturn large boulders as if they were made of cork.

I felt the great thunder of ice plunging down a 200 foot frozen escarpment.

Sea lions jockeyed for position on a marble exposure jutting from the bay.

A mountain goat and her kid rest on a patch of grass high above the cold waters.

More sea otters in one photograph than lived in the entire bay 30 years ago

Then there is breath-taking vista after breath-taking vista, including some rare glimpses of Mt. Fairweather; highest peak in the park.  The name is a bit ironic since frequent clouds, fog and rain shroud the entire south end of the St. Elias Range on most days.

For my first adventure of this year’s Alaska trip, I took advantage of some downtime during an 80-degree heatwave in Juneau to return to Mendenhall Glacier.  Just like last time, it was a fantastic and challenging day hike.  But what a difference a year makes when it comes to the sights at the glacier itself.

The spectacular ice cave I explored last summer had melted away completely.

The melting ice freed an entire ridge from a frosty tomb for the first time in centuries.  These two pictures don’t come from the exact same spot, but I identified a few reference points on the crest of the newly exposed ridge.

These mountain glaciers are dynamic environments and it’s amazing to see this change in person.  This vantage will be completely different again next summer for anyone who gets to hike in.

This place will see more activity for much of the summer as I am returning to Southeast Alaska for another go-round for work.

But first I gotta get there.  I’m in the middle of three day road trip to Bellingham, Washington where the collection vehicle will catch a boat to Juneau.  It’s been an awesome drive, traveling about half the length of I-90, America’s longest interstate highway.

Today was very unique because a few miles into Montana, we spotted a funnel cloud jutting from a large thunderstorm a few miles from the highway.  I was riding shotgun and was able to snap some pics when the terrain allowed.

I’ve never spotted a tornado before.  Which is a good thing, I suppose, but I always thought it’d be cool to see one in the distance while traveling out West where the visibility is long and there are no people in the way.

This little funnel was short lived, as was the intensity of the storm that produced it, and I never saw it reach the ground, making it technically not a tornado.  The weather resources I was monitoring never gave out any alerts about the storm before it waned.  The area was extremely rural so it couldn’t have been a threat to more than a couple of ranches.  I wonder if the National Weather Service even knew about this one.

I’m debating whether or not to acknowledge the title of this post.  Is the reader going to recognize the homage to the album that briefly united Robert Plant and Jimmy Page or will the reader think I’m a dummy who misremembered the album title?

At any rate, I post this from a very wintery Clarksville, Tennessee, where I’m at the front end of a new project.  Once the weather breaks, I will spend the rest of this month circumnavigating Nashville, one county at a time.  It’s a remarkable change from the mountains and wide open deserts of New Mexico.  After so much time out west, it’s nice to see lots of trees and streams with water in them.

I had to deal with some sketchy travel conditions along the way but made it in one piece.  Some folks just don’t get it though, when the roads are snowy and the bridges are icy.  You are not as good a driver as you think you are.  If you must travel, do yourselves a favor and take it easy when the roads look like this.

I have been to Tennessee before, but only passing through.  So this is effectively new country for me.  A fun part of my job is exploring new areas and what they have to offer.  I know I’m looking forward to the barbeque and whiskey.

In a departure from the popular images of salmon, whales and cute mammals, today I will present some other interesting life I’ve encountered.

I’ll start with this beauty.

It’s a Staghorn Sculpin.  I’ve caught a handful of these over the last two months.  Though they look weird, they are perfectly harmless; no spines or teeth.  The name comes from the unique shape at the point of the gill plate.

On another day, my lure blundered into a dense school of baitfish, snagging one in the process.

I’m not 100 percent certain, but I believe it is a species of smelt.

Jellies are an extremely common form of life in the world’s oceans.  When the waves are calm and the lighting is good, I have frequently seen them from the decks of ferries and drifting by from the shore.

Low tide is a wonderful time to observe a plethora of interesting creatures.  This image of a small crab also has a bunch of snails and a limpet.

Only once have I been at a location where tidal pools contained sea stars.  Naturally, I needed to take a closer look.  At this spot, nearly ever surface of every rock was covered with mussels and barnacles.

My time in Alaska is drawing to a close.  With all the work complete, I am back in Ketchikan getting things ready to ship out.  The streams around here are full of chum salmon right now, so am going to see what I can do about that in the time I have left.

I’m spending the week on Prince of Wales Island this week and using a place in Craig on the island’s west shore as a base of operations.  Today there’s a familiar boat parked in the harbor here in town.

I’ll let you know if I run into any Hillstrands.

I woke up a few minutes before 3 a.m. last night and my hotel room in Juneau was bumping around.  In my grogginess, it took a few seconds to realize it was an earthquake.  First one I’ve ever experienced.  Couldn’t have been much longer than 30 seconds in duration.

http://earthquake.usgs.gov/earthquakes/eventpage/usb000rx5i#summary

It was a 5.9 about one hundred miles to my west, which places it along the main fault between the North American & Pacific Plates.  This is a transform plate boundary, same as exists in California.  The ocean floor is moving north relative to North America in southeast Alaska.

Nothing’s damaged or broken except the internet.  The work phone is getting through, but barely.  I can’t even send a text on my own phone right now.  But I’m probably a few millimeters closer to western California now! 😉

Another day, another river joining the ocean in a tidal estuary.  This one is the is the Chilkoot River and it’s the river to the east of Haines.  Haines sits on the eastern shore of a long peninsula that separates two long fjords fed by glacial-charged rivers.  Back in the paddle-power days, Haines served as a shortcut between the two river mouths, a two mile portage over level terrain being preferable to a 30 mile paddle.  These days, Haines is the quiet alternative to tourist-heavy Skagway as a place to transition from the Marine Highway to the more conventional highway.

On this day, I selected the Chilkoot, to the east, over the Chilkat, to the west, because it had a lake just a mile upstream.  I didn’t wind up fishing the lake, but it looked cool on a map.  Instead I followed the receding tide downstream throughout the morning and into early afternoon.

Tides are an interesting phenomenon for this Midwest boy.  I’m not used this dramatic, short-term change in water level.  At the heads of these long inlets and channels far from the open ocean, the tide can shift the water 20 feet or more up and down in just 12 hours.  At a shallow estuary like the one at the mouth of the Chilkat River, this can mean the shore at low tide is a mile away from the shore at high tide.  I stand at the water’s edge and three casts later, I can take another two steps forward.

The creatures that live here are used to the tides, though.  During their spawning runs, each rising tide brings another wave of salmon upstream into the river.  Each receding tide forces the stragglers to retreat from the shallowing water.  Predators of the salmon know this.  Everyone is familiar with photogenic congregations of eagles and bears at opportune places up and down the northwestern coast of the continent.

But the nature has a three-pronged attack in store for the salmon.  The bear comes from the land, the eagle comes from the sky, and from the water comes the harbor seal.

As I fished, I noticed one seal swimming around way downstream from me and it was pretty neat.  Then I saw it was actually two different seals.  I moved further downstream, following the receding tide, and two seals had become four.  Then it was more like 10.  By the time I had moved a quarter mile toward the ocean, I realized there were dozens of seals patrolling the mouth of the Chilkoot.

I had to wait more than once for a seal to move out of the way so I could cast.  At first when they surfaced near me, they bolted back underwater.  But as time passed, they were less threatened.  Instead they just wanted to make sure they knew where I was.  A seal would pop up within casting distance and it would boost it’s head higher in the water to see over the standing waves created by the current and get a clear view of me, then let the current float them away from me.  I can only describe that behavior as adorable.

Frustratingly, the seals were having much better luck fishing that I was.  Multiple times a seal would appear with a freshly caught salmon in its mouth.  As before, they would look to me to verify I was still a non-threat, but in doing so created the illusion that they were mocking me.  “Oh hey, is this what you’re looking for?  Yeah there’s a whole bunch down there.  And they’re delicious.”

I eventually caught this female Sockeye Salmon.  But the seals definitely out-fished me.
Talk about a unique experience.  Fishing along side a dozen seals with massive, cloud-draped, avalanche-scarred mountains above me.  Alaska is pretty awesome.

There’s an old saying; “It’s the journey, not the destination.”  Basically, it’s shorthand for suggesting people enjoy the stuff they encounter while working towards a goal because it may turn out to be more valuable or interesting than the goal itself.  I think it is extremely relevant to fishing.  The goal may be to catch a specific species or a certain size fish or maybe just catch anything at all.  But it’s not going to happen every time.  Sometimes you are going to return without so much as a bite.  It’s part of fishing (and part of life.)  Sometimes you get skunked. Sometimes you break stuff.  Sometimes you get chewed up by bugs.

bug shirt

But you know where you never catch fish?  Sitting in front of a screen.
When you get out there, you might see a little corner of the world you never have.  You may encounter wildlife doing something you haven’t seen before.  Even if you’re going to the same ol’ fishin’ hole, you’re seeing it at a different moment from the last time you were there.  You can witness the subtle changes that happen across the seasons and over the years.  You’re in the great outdoors, surrounded by the natural systems your very existence is dependant on.  Fishing in particular makes you acutely aware of how connected the air and the water and the land are to each other.

I am currently in the state capital of Juneau.  We had a piece of equipment break down and are currently waiting on a replacement part, so I’ve got time for fishing, exploration and being a tourist.  On Wednesday, the morning’s rain was breaking up midday and I was intrigued by something I read in the fishing regulations.  There is a stream in the area that is only open to fishing on Wednesdays and Saturdays in the month of June.  It’s a tributary to a river that flows out of a glacier and it’s about a three mile trek to get there.  If nothing else, I figured it would be a cool hike.

That part was sure right.

Cool.

That glacier is another three miles up valley.

All told, I put about seven miles on my boots and by the end, I was feeling sore and tired.  I got rained on a little, my feet were starting to get wet, I was pestered by mosquitoes and didn’t really get all that much fishing in.  The streams were too high and it was difficult negotiating the brush alongside them.  I ran into other anglers, some of whom were stinking up the area with thier stupid cigarettes.  I didn’t get out of the woods until after 8pm.  All this work and effort and what did I have to show for it?  Just this 15 inch cutthroat trout I released.

15″ cutthroat from Windfall Creek

Beautiful as it is, was it really worth all that effort?  Maybe not if we only judge this expedition based on the goal of catching fish.  But when we take into consideration the journey I took trying to reach that goal, we come away with a much different answer.  A vigorous hike into a place I have never before been; some cool wildlife and geology sights along the way.  The unquantifiable satisfaction that comes from enjoying something that most people want nothing to do with.

Catching fish is only part of the experience.  Near the end of my return trip, I gave my legs a rest and took a drink of water.  It was dead calm beneath the thick canopy and the woods were echoing with the calls of 3 or 4 types of bird.  The calls punctuated the background drone of the nearby river rushing over fallen timber and gravel bars and the foreground drone of a small trickle of water dumping over some roots.  Every so often, a woodpecker rattled the trunk of tree nearby.  I had to sit a moment longer to absorb the sounds and smells of the forest.  Marvelous.

visual for that sound scape

I’m going to have to get a closer look at one of these glaciers.  That’ll be my next hike.

Ten years ago, the Discovery Channel debuted a unique (at the time) type of reality show about dudes fishing for crab on the Bering Sea.  This was back when there was still good stuff on the Discovery Channel, so I was quickly roped in by it.  Unlike all of the subsequent would-be imitators across basic cable, there was something compelling about the people featured on the show.  They do a fantastic job editing together character arcs for some of the fishermen involved over the years that has held my attention for a decade.

I’m not the only one who has enjoyed the program since it quickly became Discovery’s highest rated show.  Then they made the mistake of trying to make the entire network look like that and it eventually lead to its precipitous slide into the mostly terrible garbage that pollutes my former favorite cable channel.  But Deadliest Catch still holds up.

Deadliest Catch merchandise is a mainstay of all the gift shops that line the waterfront of Ketchikan and I’m sure every other port of call in Alaska.

as seen on TV

Yesterday, one of the boats that has been featured on the show steamed by.  The Tongass Narrows in front of Ketchikan make up part of the “Inside Passage”; a navigable path for ships large and small among the islands between Puget Sound and the Gulf of Alaska that is protected from the open ocean and is the preferred route for most vessels.

This is the F/V Kodiak which was on the show when it was captained by the big dude with the large beard and long, white hair.  He’s running some other boat on the current season.

A different Deadliest Catch alumni is quite obviously no longer in the commercial fishing game.  The F/V Aleutian Ballad was on a couple early seasons of Deadliest Catch.  These days, it capitalizes on the popularity of the show by taking visitors out on guided tours.

Yes, that’s two levels of stadium seating that have been installed to accommodate tourists.  Seems like a humble second life for a ship where men used to risk their lives in pursuit of high-end seafood.

Speaking of which, I have the gear and licenses I need to start plying the local waters for my own not-so-deadly catch.  Because of the amount of stuff we needed to fly up with for the job, and because of my distrust of the airlines to properly handle any of my fishing rods, I’ve elected to buy new gear up here.  Also none of my stuff was at the same time sturdy and portable enough to bring along.  With another rain day in the forecast for tomorrow, I plan to test out the new equipment on some area waters.

It says it makes good Bloody Marys but I dunno. I’d rather try the rhubarb flavor.

Now that the internet is working, I can start posting from Alaska.

In just one day, I’ve already seen a couple of seals, four giant cruise ships and even a glimpse of a whale.

Ketchikan’s airport is on a separate island from the city requiring a short ferry crossing.  While waiting for that ferry today, this small whale randomly popped up for a gulp of air.  Small is a relative term; it was still at least 20 feet.  I have no idea what species it was, but it was still really cool.  The whale didn’t make another appearance before the ferry started loading, so I didn’t get any pictures of it.

Instead, here’s your standard Alaska picture of eagles sitting around on something man made.

That’s our hotel underneath them.  It’s a decent spot; a four story building right next to the water.  I got myself a new camera before this project and already I’m getting better shots of more distant subjects like these two baldies.  Good purchase.

Apologies for the hiatus, but sometimes you just don’t feel inspired.  It’s not like Utah was bereft of gorgeous scenery and interesting stuff to do.  I just didn’t really feel like writing anything.  Snow capped mountains, desert valleys, a vast inland sea and an unexpectedly cosmopolitan city; that about summarizes my time in the Beehive State.

I also skipped over the few days I spent in Portland, Oregon.  Beautiful city with loads to do.  Plus when the dense vegetation allows, you can see volcanoes!  Mt. Hood and Mt. St. Helens and their snow-white peaks stick out very well against all the green of everything else.

Then there was the annual fishing trip to Canada over the Memorial Day weekend.  Fish were caught, beers were drunk, good times were had.

I will be posting a lot more during this next project because in 48 hours, I will be in southeast Alaska.  Yes for the next two months or so, the islands and fjords and passages of our largest and wildest state will be my office.  The job is the same, only the setting will be different.  That and the “Alaska Marine Highway”; a fancy name for the system of ferries that transport people, vehicles and stuff from island to island to mainland areas unconnected to any other inland roads.  This is going to be quite the adventure and I will do my best to keep everyone updated. Not every place has internet, though, and I will probably spend more than one night camping.

I bid New Mexico adieu today. It’s been an interesting job but it’s nice to be done. Next week, I come back to the southwest for a project in Utah. I only have a few days to enjoy the “outstanding” winter they’re having back home.

That’s the evening sun in downtown Albuquerque with a freshly snowed Sandia Peak in the background.
(Reporting from a bar inside the terminal of Albuquerque International Sunport.)

There was a small wildfire kicking up a lot of smoke just over the Texas border from me today.

First saw the smoke about 50 miles away and eventually made it to about a mile from the blaze.

It was burning short grass prairie covering a dune field that straddles the Texas/New Mexico border east of Portales.  Somewhere around here: http://mapper.acme.com/?ll=34.21493,-103.02223&z=13&t=H

Been at least two weeks since I’ve seen any precipitation in these parts; it came in the form of a modest snow dusting.  So, yeah, it’s been dry.

Albuquerque has a really nice natural history museum that I got a chance to explore last weekend.  Something about having a museum in a state where you can find actual dinosaur fossils makes them really bring it.

Nicely done, New Mexico.

I’ll be spending Super Bowl Sunday in lovely Roswell.  Already seen one group in the hotel sporting Seahawks jerseys, but most folks in this state seem to be backing the Broncos.  All the guys working the New Mexico project are getting together to watch the game, so that should be a good time.

I’ll mention it was 74 degrees here today and hope it doesn’t sound like I’m rubbing it in to all my peoples in the Midwest.  8)

Took some time this evening to checkout the Sandia Peak Tramway here in Albuquerque.  A fifteen minute ride lands you near the summit at an elevation of over 10,000 feet.  The top was considerably colder and windier than the base, but the view was totally worth it.

A nice sunset view and a good restaurant were waiting at the top of the mountain.

Needing a little outdoor time before settling in to watch football this afternoon, I ventured a few miles outside of Las Vegas, NM to a nearby national wildlife refuge.  Just an aside, Las Vegas, NM decidedly less exciting than Las Vegas, NV.  While it may have had an interesting past, today it’s basically a convenient pit stop about halfway between Santa Fe and Colorado.

Anyway, the wildlife refuge contains several small lakes, the largest of which is called McAllister.  Diversion of water from a nearby river usually keeps enough water in McAllister Lake to support a population of game fish.  However, starting a few years ago, long term drought in the region meant water was no longer available for the lake and it is now a shadow of it’s former self.

For comparision, here’s the lake as represented by 1:24,000 topographic map from the 70’s:

http://mapper.acme.com/?ll=35.52165,-105.18089&z=15&t=T

Now here it is in a more recent aerial photo:

http://mapper.acme.com/?ll=35.52165,-105.18089&z=15&t=S

It’s actually completely dry and the white is evaporated mineral deposits left behind.  Today, there was some water in it, but much of the lakebed was exposed revealing various debris left behind by careless or unfortunate anglers.  A walk around the lake was like visiting a museum devoted to the last 40 years of packaging of cheap beer.  Other objects were more interesting.

Here lies an old fishing pole, an empty Coors pull tab can, some undefined mechanical part and a half buried tackle box.  The meager remains of the lake are iced over in the background.  A pair of tumbleweeds have taken root in the silt.  Reminds me of photos I’ve seen of the Aral Sea in Central Asia where boats sit decaying miles from the current shoreline.

This photo captures a decades old boating mishap.  It is also a reminder that people flocked here not too long ago to spend an afternoon on the water and try their luck at the Rainbow Trout that were once stocked here.  I got there a few years too late for that.

Seeing all those empties sticking out of the mud really makes me wish people weren’t such jerks about littering.  Bud, Coors, Miller, Pepsi, Schlitz, Hamm’s; I even saw a Stroh’s and something called “Meister Brau Light” from Miller.  I shutter to think this is what it looks like beneath the lakes that I frequent back in Wisconsin.  C’mon, people, pack out your trash!  Keep America beautiful.