Clouds, Mountains, and Light

It is as clear as squeaky clean glass outside today, except, of course, at the tops of the mountains.  Right at the peaks of the mountains is a line of puffy clouds looking like lace trim on the bodice of a dress.
The water is very calm.  In the very far distance---60 miles----I can see Mt. Augustine, Douglas, Iliamna, and Redoubt, all magnificent volcanoes.  There's a cruise ship docked on the spit, its big white body clearly visible from my 10-mile vantage point.  Every once in awhile I see the sun reflecting off a boat motoring in the bay as though sending signals with a mirror.  The temperature is a very pleasant 70.

It was clear like this a couple days ago too when we ferried across the  bay to Seldovia, a very small town that can only be reached  by plane or boat.  The water was amazing.  It was sparkling so much it would hurt your eyes without sunglasses.  We saw a sea lion, many otters, cormorants, murres, several kinds of ducks, loons, and puffins.  We had a delightful time wandering around the town taking pictures of interesting spots and reveling in the gorgeous weather.

One of the things I love about this place is how much and how fast the weather changes.  Yesterday it was cloudy and somewhat dreary all day.   This actually was good because Nels and Nevin, our friend from home, went river fishing for salmon and trout.  If it's clear when you fish, the fish are more likely to see you and avoid your tempting bait.  They are not dumb.  But lucky for us, it was not clear yesterday; so Nels and Nevin came home with numerous salmon and trout, almost their limit---a good catch for their first attempt at this kind of fishing.  We had a wonderful fresh salmon dinner last night.  From stream to table was only a few hours!

After dinner Kitty, Nevin's wife, and I played cards and watched the weather transform.  It was fascinating.  After every hand of Oh Pshaw we'd look up to see an entire new scene!  Little wispy puffs marching across the front of the mountains, huge blankets of clouds draped over the peaks and part-way down the sides, long cotton-like rolls laid out along the middle of the mountains, fog at the top with the feet of the mountains showing through, fog at the bottom with the peaks jutting through, and eventually, fog everywhere. The more shrouded the mountains became, the closer they looked until eventually we couldn't see them or the water at all.  All this in a couple hours!  It's quite a show and never boring.

The sun was still shining brightly when we all went to bed.  It's been just over a month since the solstice though, and we can already see a big difference in the amount of light at night.  The sun is setting earlier and dark is getting darker.  I'm actually looking forward to the seasons and the long stretches of darkness because it will be such a different experience for us.  I'm eager to see the stars, which I haven't seen since we left home, and the aurora especially.  So what I'm really saying is I'm eager to see points of light in the darkness.  There's a lesson there!

"You are resplendent with light, more majestic than mountains rich with game."
  Psalm 76:4                                                                                                              

Ready For The Day

On the beach around six A.M. the sun is bright, the water calm, the tide high. The birds are busy doing morning callisthenics. A large brown bird, perhaps a cormorant, streaks by as though on a mission, his long neck stretched out like the prow of a ship.  The gulls seem to prefer solo exercises, dipping and swooping alone.  The loons, on the other hand, are far more organized and group-oriented. One might even say, regimented.  Every few seconds there is a flash of white from a line of loons crossing the sky.  Their formations are like ribbons, some long, some short, all of them shimmering as they flap in concert with each other.  Usually they  travel south to north, in which case their white bellies are rhythmically punctuated by black wings flapping. This makes their flight look like a coded signal to those of us stuck on the ground.   When there is a line going north to south, the tilt of their bodies show mostly  black backs with just a hint of white underneath flicking on and off as their wings beat. 

It is not a time for feeding.  Even when the birds are drifting on the water, they don't seem to be that concerned about food.  Every so often a tail  flips up as an individual bird dives for a fish.  But generally, they are either flying or lounging.  It seems as though they're getting ready for the day.  There are no arguments or disagreements.  Eagles are noticeably absent.

Around the end of the spit a stream of boats is going out of the bay  toward open water for another day of fishing.  The boats almost seem eager as they progress quickly.  Nelson is on one of them.  I watch as his boat grows smaller and smaller until it disappears around the end of the island.  In about twelve hours, when the tide is high again, all those boats will reverse their path and come home, hopefully with a big catch.

At my feet is a large log still smoldering from a camp fire last night.  It's sending smoke signals that the breeze is from the southwest. I take a deep breath, whisper a thankful prayer, and head home.  It's going to be a beautiful day!