More Hot Springs and Alaskan Critters

Rainy Day Antics…

I awake to a misty Alaska morning. My bathing suit is still damp, More than damp. I could squeeze more water out of it if I rolled it in a towel, but I only have one towel, and it’s damp too.

I’ve been steeling myself to wear this cold wet suit for the trip to the hot springs this morning, but Peter appears and suggests going to the natural hot springs, the one we have to hike to (and wear bathing suits in), a little later in the day and heading to the tubs (private and clothing optional) now. That way my suit will have more time to dry.

His reasoning was that later on we’ll have less chance of running into a wandering grizzly. Are we really weighing that possibility so casually?

It’s low tide on our dinghy trip to the bath house, and the air has that pungent, life-infused odor from places normally underwater and below our sight. The exposed banks with disarrayed starfish seem vulnerable, but Peter assures me they’ll survive till high tide.

We settle ourselves in separate bathing rooms, and I dip in. It’s always a little too hot but since I know I’ll positively not scald, I ease into it more fearlessly. After a shorter dip and a little light-headedness, I dry off and dress.

A Rose is a Rose?

Pete and Sue are still soaking, so I ramble up and down the boardwalk outside the bathhouse, enjoying the cool morning by myself. I look down a hill to the right and spot what appears to be a gigantic hot pink (wild?) rose growing below. I can smell it at least 12 feet away!

I walk (carefully) down some old stone steps for a closer look. I’ve never heard of a single-petaled, wild rose this large, about 3″ across. But it is indeed recognizable by scent and looks, and has a stem completely covered in thorns. The rose hips are nearly 1″ ripening red balls. Alaska is full of living surprises.

Ethereal Jellyfish and a Many Legged Sun Star

On the dinghy trip back I peer through translucent brown green water. Four jellyfish, like tiny water spirits, move with gentle undulations in their lacy cup-shaped gowns. When we are nearly back to the ship, we see a different species; this one is lunch plate sized and shaped like an animated child’s drawing of a flower, opening and closing, opening and closing. Long tendrils trail over the rocks below it. So much delicate beauty and deadly, too, at least for fish. But I’d give it wide berth too, if I needed to.

Pete is off in the dinghy again, picking up the shrimp trap, hoping for another good catch. Sue and I are making breakfast, blueberry pancakes from frozen blueberries; the disappointingly wormy wild ones picked yesterday tossed overboard.

Pete is back, with nothing to show for his trip but a 19-legged sun star, A big, beefy guy that Pete laid out on the deck for us to appreciate before gifting back to the waters. This guy has had his own private party feasting on the shrimp bait, and despite the otherwise empty trap, I’m happy for the encounter.

Only 10:30 am when we finished cleaning up breakfast but by then all of us are ready for a nap. I don’t usually indulge in that luxury, but it suits the mood and dampness of the day.

It’s now 12:30 and I’m the only one up so far, listening to a steady quiet rain. Will we make it to the outdoor hot springs by the waterfall? Right now it feels half obligatory. I want the memory but not the experience, which I suspect will be cold, a little slippery and possibly “enhanced” on the way by a grizzly appearance. We thought going later would minimize that natural hazard, since we’d be following a trail already set by somewhat noisy tourists and dogs. But have any other maritime or summer cottage tourists felt themselves ready for that risk? I’m curious what Peter thinks.

It’s been raining all day, steadily, softly. we never got back to the springs today, neither the tubs nor the dramatic one by the waterfall. The same bear who staked out his claim on the shore yesterday came back, and Pete captured him eating salmon just before he jumped in the water in our direction, an offensive attack against nothing he could see. Bears don’t have the best eyesight, but I think he knows we’re watching him and he perceives us, a blind annoyance he can’t quite shake off.

Playing Games on a Rainy Day…

Sue and I spent the afternoon talking and playing games, Jenga was fun, building and then taking apart one by one tiny rectangular blocks, hoping not to collapse everything. I hoped I wouldn’t be the one to end it, but Sue had the touch and deftly slid out her blocks every time. It was trickier and harder the more unbalanced the structure became, especially in a gently rocking boat. Of course I was the one to end it, sending the entire precarious structure tumbling off the table.

Pete spent the afternoon uploading photos and showed us the video of the berry eating grizzly. We all feel affection for him, admired his dog-like scratching and then jumped a little at his sudden lunge, right at the moment he realizes he’s being watched.

Kona has the Last Word

We played scrabble after dinner while the zucchini, salmon cakes and casserole digested. We weren’t bad at it, not keeping score but just dreaming up words to fit on that puzzle game I remember my parents playing when I was a child; my mom with her immense vocabulary that no one, not even my smart dad could equal.

Kona ends the game by jumping on the board and scattering the pieces. We all laugh, even though she wasn’t trying to be funny.

Another kind of Alaska day, dreamy and quiet.

Your Animal Loving Artist,

Merry