I was all set for spring; the equinox had passed. I chipped away at the minor icefield that had accumulated in my driveway and thought about putting the heaviest winter gear back in the closet. Juncos and varied thrushes were singing; song sparrows on the beach fringes were tuning up. The voice of the wren was sometimes heard in the forest. I heard reports of brown creepers in song and of migrant buntings on the wetlands. Red-breasted sapsuckers had returned and their drumming resounded from tall snags. Two ravens flew over my house, their bills filled with wads of moss for a nest somewhere.
One of the first signs of spring seen at Centennial Hall on Sunday, April 5. (Courtesy Photo | Denise Carroll)
Out on a North Douglas beach, mermaids’ purses — egg cases of skates, probably the long-nosed species — appeared in the high-tide wrack, as they usually do in early spring. Overhead, a great blue heron flew by, trailing a long stick for a nest. Furled leaves of skunk cabbage poked up through the ice on beaver ponds. They also showed up along pond edges, where deer had nipped off the tips of all the over-eager emerging shoots. A few pussy-willow catkins peeped out of their protective brown covers.
[Wild Shots: Photos of Mother Nature in Alaska]
Then, toward the end of March, winter came back with a vengeance. Oh woe!
I generally love winter, traipsing about in the snow, looking for critter tracks and whatever else might be interesting to a curious naturalist. And the chickadees and nuthatches, even the juncos, just love my peanut butter feeder.
But this time, my mind-set was on “forward,” not “back,” and it took some readjustment.
Resetting the mental state was helped by a walk in brilliant sunshine on the last day of March. I went with a friend to Eaglecrest, which was officially closed, of course, but — bless ‘em! — the trails were still being groomed. Even part of the Lower Meadows Backcountry Trail was groomed, extending downhill on a chain of small meadows. Although snowshoers and hikers must stay off most of the groomed track on the regular Lower Loop trail for Nordic skiers — even when the snow is so hard we don’t make divots — and walk only on the edges of the track, on the Lower Meadows trail walkers and even dogs are all welcome.
This tree, seen on April 1, is half covered in snow and half not. (Courtesy Photo | Denise Carroll)
So down we went, I on snowshoes, my friend on kahtoolas. It turned out that the snow crust was so hard that both of us could walk anywhere with no post-holing. And we did; we wandered all over those lower meadows, mostly off-trail.
A thin layer of fluffy snow had recorded a busy community of critters. There were tracks everywhere — mouse, vole, shrew, weasel — going every which way. Hare tracks were scarce, compared to what I’ve seen elsewhere at Eaglecrest.
A porcupine had left its characteristic trail some time ago, before snow drifted in to blur the marks. Deer had ambled all over the place; the snow was so hard that even their thin legs didn’t sink in. A set of canid tracks led to wishful thinking about coyotes, but ‘twas more likely a happy dog.
[New information in smelly, old bones]
We thought to finish our little outing by cruising around some of the area covered by the lower Nordic ski loop (off the groomed track except where we carefully crossed it). Oddly, there were no critter tracks at all, although at other times that area has shown lots of activity.
Then homeward bound, in a much better frame of mind. Aren’t we lucky to live here with all that big outdoors so handy!
• Mary F. Willson is a retired professor of ecology. “On The Trails” is a weekly column that appears every Wednesday.
