I’ve been pondering lately the fate of the guy who is trying to escape the tsunami on the ubiquitous tsunami warning signs up and down the Pacific coast. Truth be told, the wave looks more like a sneaker wave than a full-blown tsunami. Still, I find it unsettling to have him be put in such a perilous situation for our benefit. Does he have family? How high is the hill? Will he escape?

A small but dedicated group has sprung up in Humboldt. They show up on beaches, early in the morning, rakers in hand, ready to leave their mark. They take nothing but pictures. They avoid leaving footprints. What they do leave in the wet sand are geometric figures, some quite large. They make labyrinths for themselves and others to enjoy. Inevitably, the tide comes in, burying their creations.

To join or observe, or see many other photos, check them out on Facebook at http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=106161612764020

And so I found myself in Arcata, on the California North Coast, smack in the midst of Coastal Redwood forests, delicious produce of local organic farms and farm markets, and remnants of the 1960s.

I was feeling restless by the end of last year, and it seemed like an extended hiatus from my home town of Juneau, Alaska was in order, to explore and photograph the rest of the West Coast. I packed my car with whatever (my friend Carl, miraculously) could fit in it, plus my tortoise and my cat, and a couple of favorite plants for good measure, and set sail on the Alaska Marine Highway Ferry for Bellingham. I spent a month at a friend’s house on San Juan Islands, visited old friends and made new ones along the way, replaced cars, and in February threw anchor in Arcata. And here’s where the story really begins. And it begins for two good reasons – to share my favorite photos from this area and to keep me from loosing a bet and having to make and wear a chicken costume…

I spent two days last week in and around the Prairie Creek Redwood State Park, watching the elk and scouting locations for possible shots of Rhododendrons flowering amongst the Redwoods. The classical Redwoods Forest picture, of course. It’s still a bit early – another couple of weeks before they will start blooming in full force, but I am ready!. The Prairie Creek Park, which is roughly half way between California’s northernmost coastal city, Crescent City, and Arcata has become one of my favorite spots. I spent several days exploring it in January, and with so many old-growth trees, lots of day-long hikes, a couple of campings spots, and the famed Fern Canyon, it is certainly a gem.

While settling for the night on the beach at the Dry Lagoon (where, officially, you can’t camp), I met two U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service biologists – a fishery biologist and a herpetologist, to be exact – who came to fish in the surf for surfperch. Unfortunately, the waves were too big for the fish to be close enough to the shore, but I did get several interesting shots. I hope to try fishing for surfperch myself soon – it seems quite removed from combat-style fishing for salmon in certain areas of Alaska, yet has the high energy of breaking waves and expansive beaches.

Channel Islands is a cluster of 14 small islands stretching from Auke Bay to Amalga Harbor near Juneau, Alaska. These islands provide an important habitat for nesting shorebirds, a haul out for Stellar sea lions, and an amazing recreational area for kayakers, campers, boaters, and geocachers. Thanks to the efforts of former State Senator Kim Elton and State Representative Beth Kerttula, these islands became part of the marine park system in 2005, and were expanded with additional islands in 2008.

On May 2, 2009, a Juneau-based non-profit organization Turning The Tides organized its second annual Channel Islands marine debris cleanup. Spearheaded by Carol Anderson, Turning The Tides received a grant from the Marine Conservation Alliance to cover gas for boats willing tohelp us. We had five boats ferrying crews to the islands and the sixth State Park boat in charge of picking up the collected trash. About 40 volunteers were recruited to spend the day cleaning up the beaches of these islands.

The crew of my team went to Portland Island, a brisk half-hour ride from Auke Bay. Besides the usual assortment of plastic bottles and cans, pieces of Styrofoam, ropes, and buckets, mostly plastic trash, which is sadly ubiquitous on exposed beaches, we also came across a few more unusual finds. A large red Coast Guard rescue inflatable raft was recovered from the north point of the island. The year it was last serviced, recorded in large black letters on it, was 1981! We also found a life-size headless deer shooting target made out of Styrofoam, a number of hunting bird decoys, buoys,  car wheels, and diesel containers with leftover diesel. All in all, we collected about 400 pounds of trash, leaving the large car wheel where we found it as it was too heavy to carry.

Of course, trash is not the only reason we ventured to these islands on that day. It was a warm, sunny, calm day, just perfect to be out on the water. Humpback whales were feeding on small fish, probably herring or capelin. Oystercatchers were busy staking out spots on the rocky beach for their so-called nests. Arctic tern were resting and feeding for their own egg-rearing. A better day could have hardly been picked.

But for the rest of us, the Mendenhall Glacier is special for the variety of hikes it offers around it and kayaking, skiing and skating in front of it. One of the easy light hikes that I often do with friends and family from out of town is a loop trail on the east side of the glacier. However, one of my favorite hikes is along the West Glacier trail and over the rocky outcropping sticking out into the Mendenhall Lake, to the icy caves of the glacier.

Last November, three of us, to say nothing of the dog, set off to explore the ever-changing face of the glacier. Right at the head of the trail, we caught a glimpse of Romeo, our other celebrity – a black wolf that has been coming down from the mountains for the past several years to spend his winters around the glacier.

The glacier was as charming as usual. I haven’t been to it in half a year, and it’s a bit unnerving to see how quickly it’s receding. In the eight years I have been in Juneau, it has lost a large chunk of its face, revealing more rocky mountains on either side. It’s said to see an old friend age so fast.

But the beauty of the dark blue ice caves lining the face of the glacier quickly took my mind off everything else. Those caves are very dynamic, constantly expanding and contracting, appearing and disappearing. No two hikes to them are ever the same.

On the way back, fog came over just as we were summiting the rocky outcropping, creating a surreal feeling of being lost in a strange land.

To see my friend Chelsea’s account of the hike, see her posting.

A ten-minute walk from my house puts me right in downtown Juneau, with its uniquely  disharmonious and unappealing architectural styles outside of the historical center. The white snow and the darkness of the night cover up many of the blemishes. Lurking through the darker streets with an old wooden surveyor’s tripod (thanks to Art Sutch for letting me borrow it, after I broke mine a week ago), looking for interesting combinations of lights and shadows. Crispness of the cold in the air. The last time I checked, it was 15° F in Juneau, 3° F in Anchorage, and – 30° F in Fairbanks. Happy New Year, everybody!

Although these islands require an effort to get to, they still see their share of junk and trash accumulated along their beaches. Tides, currents, waves and wind deposit remnants of commercial fishing and boating – nylon nets, rope, plastic bottles, plastic bags, plastic containers – whatever floats, along their shorelines. People who flock to these beaches  sometimes leave their trash behind – cans, camping and picnicking leftovers, shotgun shells, tarps. Some trash makes me wonder how it even finds its way to these small islands – airplane tires, tractor engines.

In August, Carol Anderson of Turning The Tides, a Juneau-based non-profit organization whose mission is to raise awareness about ocean issues and to promote ocean-friendly practices, clean-up efforts, waste reduction and sustainability, organized a beach cleanup of several of the nearby islands. About 10 volunteers on two boats spent a beautiful sunny, warm day collecting trash from beaches of Lincoln, North, and Benjamin Islands.

Of course, collecting other people’s trash might be a feel-good effort, but it wasn’t our treasure and is not a solution to littering. Plastics, even though they break down to smaller pieces, will theoretically linger forever, as there is no natural mechanism for them to decompose into basic elements. In the process, some release toxins that mimic or disrupt hormone pathways, among other negative effects, potentially leading to an increased chance of cancer. Avoiding use of disposable plastics – bags, water bottles, containers, forks and spoons – is one part of the solution. Not littering is another.

I’ve been snow-shoeing with a friend around the Eaglecrest Mountain – Mount Ben Steward ridge area, over on Douglas in Juneau, Alaska. It’s interesting being on a mountain in the winter without skis, not being able to whoosh down fast at will. But this mode of transportation has its advantages – I can go up slowly and stop often to enjoy the scenery and the night and early-morning sky. Without the skis, I don’t feel hurried to get to the top quickly and ski down while there is still plenty of virgin powder.

It’s intriguing how easy it is to strike up conversations with skiers on the slope while snow-shoeing. Some wonder why we are going in the opposite direction of the general traffic, why we are not on the chair-lift, where our skis are. Ski patrol stops to see if we are alright. And so on. When I ski, I usually end up talking only during the chair-lift ride, or in the line to it. Otherwise, I prefer it to be a rather solitary experience, to get down to earth, so to speak, at least as far as the snow depth allows.

But I digress. After snow-showing up to the top,  with kind assistance of poles or an ice axe, there is nothing better than a hot cup of tea or cocoa, courtesy of the Whisper-Lite stove we take with us. But before we can get a pot of snow going, first things first. We dig in, until a circular trench in the snow is made, tall enough to hide us from wind and wide enough for us and the stove. Now, while the snow is undergoing all three physical form-changes to accommodate us with a hot drink, we pull out bars of dark chocolate and munch on them for lunch. It’s quite and tranquil around. No people, no sounds, just the breeze singing in the trees as it travels from Canada or the ocean, navigating through channels and mountain-tops. That’s ecstasy, 6th heaven.

As the sun slowly rolls over the peaks of the Admiralty Island, threatening to disappear in between one of them, we pack up and begin our journey down. A slow descent, as our legs are tired, but still so much faster than the climb up. With the last rays of sun igniting mountain-tops for the last time and long grotesque shadows bridging trees, we reach the car.