Waterbird

Posted on May 28, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

May and June of 2019 became somewhat of a turning point both in terms of photography and our relationship with the Chignik. The school at Chignik Lake had failed to meet the state’s requirement for a minimum enrollment of 10 students from kindergarten through grade 12 and was therefore to be closed at the end of May. Barbra was reassigned to the school at Newhalen, 278 miles Northeast up the peninsula, above where the ball of the hip joint might be, on the mainland. We were heartbroken about the move. Artistically, I felt as though I was just beginning to figure out my relationship with the river. Emotionally, we were both deeply attached to the people and the landscape at The Lake.

With the move scheduled for late June (we flew ourselves and everything we owned out on a small plane chartered for us by the school district), I was doing my best to take advantage of good days… good light… and reimagining what our experience at The Lake had meant… what the essence of it had been. And so I began breaking away from strictly representational documentary, looking for images that captured not merely what things looked like, but how we would remember them. JD

Fuel Oil Drums at The Pad

Posted on May 27, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Barbra has an eye for moody images such as this early morning landscape of diesel oil drums at the barge landing on Chignik River. The scene is the terminus of the three-mile road that travels from the airstrip, winds through the village of Chignik Lake (population 50 something), and then follows the river along steep hillsides till it ends here at the landing. These drums are barged to this point, about six miles upriver from the salt water lagoon, on high tides of about 10 feet or more. On lesser tides, the river is too shallow for the barges to run. From here, the fuel is loaded onto a truck and carried to the diesel generators that provide the village’s electricity. Gasoline, too, along with any sort of large stuff such as vehicles and building material is brought into the village in this fashion.

Such are some of the logistical consideration in a wilderness village.

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

Spring Portrait of Love

Posted on May 18, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Mated pairs of Sandhill Cranes begin appearing on the Alaska Peninsula in late April, their loud calls trumpeting the arrival of spring. They depart in late summer or early fall. If they’ve been successful, a nearly full-grown offspring accompanies them on their journey back south. *Note the heart-shaped red crown – a distinction that along with the fidelity mated adults show each other makes cranes a symbol of love in many cultures. Chignik Lake, May 4, 2019*

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.

Yellowlegs and Sticklebacks

Posted on May 13, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

**Greater Yellowlegs with a Nine-Spined Stickleback**
*Chignik Lake, Alaska Peninsula, August 20, 2018*

There are two species of yellowlegs – Greater, the larger of the two species and featuring a proportionately longer bill, and Lesser, the smaller of the two with a proportionately shorter bill. Until you’ve looked at quite a few of these birds, they are difficult to tell apart unless they’re near each other. We never encountered Lessers at The Lake, but from spring through early fall Greaters were common.

Yellowlegs stalk shoreside margins searching for any small fish. A quick stab is usually all it takes before they come up with a stickleback or salmon parr siscorred chopstick style between their bills. Close examination of photographs hints at small serrations in the roof of the upper bill, helpful in repositioning their catch for a head first swallow. Their piercing calls, delivered in sequences of three and four quick, sharp cries, can sound almost like a car alarm. Unlike most shorebirds, yellowlegs often perch at the very tops of trees, a behavior they share with Wandering Tattlers.

Mama!

Posted on May 12, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Happy Mother’s Day to readers everywhere!

Fall Bear

Posted on May 11, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

Clarks Bay September

Posted on May 9, 2024 by Jack & Barbra Donachy

**Clarks Bay Beach with Brown Bear Tracks in September**
A few hundred yards up the beach from where this photograph was composed, Clarks River debouches into Chignik Lake. Small enough to cross when wearing waders but large enough to navigate in a skiff equipped with a jet drive, Clarks provides major spawning habitat for Sockeye and Coho salmon. Lots of salmon. Lots of bears. *September 13, 2018*

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?