Ol’ Half-a-Horn

Posted on May 26, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

I almost wasn’t going to show this photo. Despite my nicknaming him Ol’, he’s probably a fully mature but young bull – perhaps in his fourth year. He’s missing his right paddle, and the remaining antler isn’t impressive. In fact, since to be legally taken during Alaska’s moose hunting season the tip to tip, antler to antler spread has to span at least 50 inches (127 cm), he probably wouldn’t have passed muster. So, no Boone and Crockett award here.

But this is easily the closest I’ve ever been to a moose, and when he suddenly emerged -seemingly to simply materialize from a thick tangle of willows, alders and salmonberries, he took our breath away. I had mere seconds to set up and make the shot has he strolled by, appearing unconcerned, barely glancing our way – our own hearts meanwhile racing like mad. Even a young bull such as this weighs close to half-a-ton and although the big ungulates are generally peaceful, mind-your-own-business types, each year here in Alaska more people are injured by moose than by bears. In fact, an Alaska man was stomped to death by a cow protecting her calf less than two weeks ago. So anytime one finds oneself this close to an animal of this size, the thrill involves wildly mixed feelings.

As I mentioned, the moment lasted mere seconds. And then, more miraculously than its sudden appearance, this fellow simply vanished. There was no departing view of dark rump disappearing into the vegetation, no hint of willows and alders shaking as he brushed by them. He crossed before us, I made 12 quick captures, the last of which featuring mainly an eyeball, part of the rack, an ear and his nape… and then he was gone, swallowed without a sound into a thicket of alders. Had we not been exactly where we were during those few seconds, we would never have guessed a moose was nearby.

Chignik Lake, October 4, 2018 – JD

Painted Geese over Breaking Surf

Posted on May 25, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

With the bright white head and nape reminiscent of the ermine capes European Royals of yore garbed themselves in, Emperor Geese (Anser canagicus) present a striking visage. But to catch a glimpse of these smallish, colorful, somewhat rare birds you have to go to coastal Western Alaska or Eastern Russia. A few dozen sometimes stop over at the sand spit at the mouth of Chignik Lagoon on the Alaska Peninsula. That’s where we found this flock, a few Glaucous-winged Gulls mixed in.

Tundra Swan with American Wigeon at Broad Pool

Posted on May 23, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

The best place to look for returning Tundra Swans (Cygnus columbians) on the Chignik is at Broad Pool, about a mile downriver from the village. One evening the swans announce their arrival with far off, lonesome-sounding notes and by morning they’ve settled at the pool. There the slow-moving, weedy water provides food for the swans as well as for migrating dabbling ducks such as Mallards, Green-winged Teal, Northern Pintails and American Wigeons. Diving ducks, mostly Common Goldeneyes, Buffleheads, Greater Scaup and both Common and Red-breasted Mergansers are also likely to be present. At this time, the banks are covered in scraggly, winter-brown grasses, sedges, willows and alders and there may still by ice along the river’s edge. By the end of the month the ice is gone and the swans and most of the ducks will have dispersed to nesting areas further up the drainage, but at least one pair of Mallards and another of wigeons usually stay to nest along along the margins of Broad Pool. They are often joined there by a brood or two of Black Scoters.

Blue Skies and Sunshine

Posted on May 14, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

**Brown Bear in Sunshine**
*Paradise Bend, Chignik River, September 24, 2018*

We didn’t get a lot of days like the one depicted above out on the cloudy, windswept Alaska Peninsula. Blue skies reflected in the river, sunshine casting everything it touched in a patina of gold. I hurried through breakfast, donned waders and a camouflage jacked, packed my camera into its soft case and bungee-corded it to the front rack of my honda. Two-and-a-half miles down the Top Road I parked near the boat landing, slung 20 pounds of tripod, camera and long lens over my shoulder and followed a trail to the broad, seldom-visited collection of braided water and islands we called Paradise Bend – the best place on the Chignik to catch morning light. Along the trail there were bear and moose tracks in soft mud, the last Wild Geraniums and Yarrow barely holding onto their purple and white blooms respectively. A snipe exploded from a little swale – late in the year for that species to be hanging around. Curious Black-capped Chickadees called from alder thickets and approached on either side to examine the intruder striding through their world and from the river I could hear the ratchety cry of a kingfisher. Further out gulls squawked and chattered – Glaucous-winged and Short-bills -, and I could just barely hear the soft, murmuring quacks of Mallards and Green-winged Teal. A pair of eagles began piping.

As I reached the bend, the wary ducks rose and repositioned themselves further downriver. There were more bear tracks in the sand along with a set of wolf prints, fresh, probably from the previous night. I waded across a river braid out to an island covered in graywacke, set up in front of small wall of autumn-yellow willows and waited. The morning sun poured over my left shoulder, a light breeze touched my right cheek. Salmon splashed in the channel in front of me as well as in shallows two hundred yards downriver to my left. My eyes were drawn to the sky as I became aware of steady, high-pitched honking growing closer – a pair of Tundra Swans winging south.

What a day. All I needed now was for a bear to come by.

Migration: The Peeps of Cordova

Posted on May 5, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

**Western Sandpipers, Hartney Bay, Cordova, Alaska, May 3, 2024**

This was the scene about six miles from the heart of Cordova this past Friday morning, and this is but a sliver of the many thousands of shorebirds that stop for a short while to fuel up and rest on tidal mudflats near the town as they make their way to nesting grounds further north. Figuring in nearby barrier islands and additional flats in the Copper River delta, some five million shorebirds represented by several species will visit the Cordova area over a few days in early May. While they are here, these Western Sandpipers will double their weight. The delta is absolutely critical to the health of these avian populations as there are only a few places in the world that offer the sheer biomass of invertebrates and biofilm these birds require in order to complete journeys that in many cases cover thousands of miles. Look for a more indepth article on this incredible migratory event in the coming days.

The View from the Boat Landing

Posted on May 1, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Behind me from where I stood as I composed this photograph, a dirt and gravel road travels a winding path along steep hillsides for about three miles to the Chignik Lake airfield, a bouncy dirt airstrip capable of handling the nine-seat bush planes and smaller aircraft that regularly travel the Alaska Peninsula. For the first two-and-a-half miles from the boat landing the road hugs steep hills, often within view of the river. Traveling the road from June through November, it’s common – at times almost a given – that you’ll see one of more of the Chignik’s massive brown bears. Sandhill Cranes, Tundra Swans, eagles and any number of passerines are frequently encountered in summer, and at any time of year a glimpse of foxes, moose, wolves and even wolverines is possible. Take note of the local hares you might catch sight of – Tundra Hares, the largest hares in the world.

The road is the road… the road to The Pad… the Top Road. Three miles. On one end, unless you are on a Honda (an ATV), you would need to board a plane to travel further by vehicle. On the other end, you need a skiff. There is no overland connection with any other community. Mountains, rough terrain and jungle-thick alders make travel by foot even to the village of Chignik Lagoon – just six miles down the peninsula from Chignik Lake – impractical. Whether one travels by air or by sea, it is 353 miles to Homer, Alaska – the closest place a road connecting with the North American mainland can be joined.

Is “wilderness village” an oxymoron?

Environmental Stewardship and a Good Piece of Pie

Posted on April 30, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

**Mumble Creek Brookie**
*That Stream that Shall Not be Named, Pennsylvania, May 2021*

A few weeks ago here on Cutterlight I published a tribute to a recently passed friend and mentor, Bill Kodrich. Concurrently, I sent the article to the fly-fishing zine Hatch Magazine hoping to get Bill a bit more ink and appreciation. The editor asked for a longer piece, which I was happy to supply. The article went live on Hatch this morning. I wrote the piece as not only a tribute to Bill, but as a reminder of two things to consider as we move through life: That mentorship matters; and that when we join with others and put our shoulders to the wheel, big change is possible. Here’s the link: Environmental Stewardship and a Good Piece of Pie

I hope your day is going well.

One Fine Morning

Posted on April 27, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived. Henry Thoreau, Walden

The Lake: Waning Crescent with Venus

Posted on April 26, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Month by month, photo by photo I’m making progress with this daunting task, key-wording, culling, editing, retouching the tens of thousands of photographs we’ve accumulated. The collection goes back to old print photographs we scanned into Lightroom, continues through our years together in Sacrament and on into our years in Alaska which have been punctuated with travels elsewhere and a two-year span in Mongolia.

Usually I’ve drawn energy from this project as I revisit memories and track the progress we’ve made as photographers. My editing and retouching skills have dramatically improved, and that too has been satisfying. But there have been low periods as well. Recently I pitched a story to the editor of a magazine. He liked the draft I showed him and asked for more. I finished the piece, sent it in… and nothing. It’s as though I’ve been ghosted. Unpleasant.

And so I find myself revisiting old questions. Have I lost the touch? Usually editors are enthusiastic about my work. Does “lost the touch” really mean “gotten too old?” Which leads to a downward spiral into the really big question I find hanging over my head at times: What if nothing ever comes of all this? What if this late-in-life push is, ultimately, pointless?

Things can get dark. But, are you enjoying your life? Barbra asks, trying to be helpful and cheering. The answer to her question is (on most days) an unequivocal Yes. And yet… and yet…

Faith in the past as an indicator tells me this moment of doubt will pass. That same past tells me that the only way to know is to keep moving forward. I suppose I could construct a metaphor about moons waning, disappearing… and then finding themselves again and waxing into fullness.

On The Hunt

Posted on April 25, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

**Ermine (Short-tailed Weasel**)
*Chignik Lake, Alaska Peninsula, August 2018*

A Collared Lemming burst from a thicket of grass and swam across a narrow finger in the lake which was filled to the brim with recent rains. Just as the little rodent disappeared in a patch of thick grass on the opposite side of the water, an Ermine popped out from where the lemming had just come, paused, looked around, appeared to sniff the air, then also swam the same course. I was scrambling with my camera hoping to capture something of the surprise sighting and managed to capture the above image just before the Ermine dove into the grass.

We didn’t often encounter either of these species during our years at The Lake, but there was hardly a walk after a fresh snowfall that we didn’t come across small paired tracks left by Ermines bounding through snow, so they appeared to be fairly abundant. Cool animals. I would love to have made friends with one the way Sam made friends with Baron in My Side of the Mountain… The closest I came was when one ran across the toe of my boot and into the entrance of our house as I opened the door one morning.