Sunrise as Mt. Juneau (3,576 ft.; 1,090) m rises straight up from sea level to towers over Douglas Bridge.
The Mt. Juneau trail is a stiff climb, with option to follow the alpine ridgeline and descend using the Perseverance Trail (13-mile round trip).
Juneau & Douglas, Alaska were originally separate competing cities. Treadwell gold mine on Douglas Island, and the Alaska Juneau and Perseverance mines on the Juneau “mainland” (North American continent) were the largest hard rock gold mines in the world from the late 1880’s thru the first several decades of the 20th century.
The Douglas Bridge opened in 1980, replacing the first bridge (built in 1935. Juneau became Alaska’s state capitol in 1906. Juneau-Douglas unified into a single municipality in 1970.
Winter Sunrise: Gossamer cobwebs of mist rise from Gastineau Channel, floating south in the early morning air flow. View from the Douglas Bridge, that connects downtown Juneau to Douglas Island (see previous post for more about the bridge and cities).
The sun will rise another few degrees above the horizon, then drift west to disappear behind the Douglas Island mountains to the right by noon. A cloudless winter day, minus 5 C (23 F). Froze my fingers taking this vid.
It’s low tide: along the right side of the view, Douglas Island’s exposed tideflats show as a black shadow between the sunlit water and the snow above the high tideline. Gulls and shorebirds will be feeding here among the blue mussel-kelp beds, just as they do below the Douglas Bridge.
Dark, weighty clouds in the distance nearly hide the mountains of Admiralty Island. Although the wind is light here, the thinly banded clouds between the dark bank and the blue sky look like they could be shaped by higher winds, probably coming down Taku Inlet.
Gulls feeding on salmon eggs and carcasses, Juneau, Alaska. Chum Salmon (aka “Dog Salmon”) and Pink Salmon (aka “Humpies”) spawning in Sheep Creek estuary. CLICK THE PHOTO BELOW TO SEE VIDEO: 10 seconds into video, a chum salmon with red and purple stripes thrashes into shallows. Past this chum salmon out in the channel, see the humped backs of pink salmon in spawning frenzy.
Pinks and Chums are the only two species of salmon whose fry (newly hatched young) migrate immediately back to saltwater. They become “smolt”: their bodies and metabolism change so they can live in saltwater. The young of the other 3 species (Chinook, Coho, and Sockeye) stay in streams and lakes for 1 or more years before they go out to sea.
Once in the ocean, their life histories diverge. Pink salmon spend only 1 year feeding in saltwater, migrating back into the streams as 2-year-old adults, the smallest of the salmon at 2.2 kg (4.8 lbs.). Chum Salmon remain in the ocean for 2-4 years, so return as 3 to 5-year-olds. Their longer life of feeding and growing results in weights of 4.4 to 10.0 kg (9.7 to 22.0 lbs.)
The high protein-high fat salmon and their eggs are super-foods for predators like gulls, shorebirds, bears, and humans. As they die, the nutrients from their bodies feed aquatic and terrestrial plants and invertebrates from crab to insects in the Coastal Temperate Rainforest. These are critical habitats and migratory passages that require protection from pollutants, destruction, and blockage.
Pocket Parks enrich a cityscape just as habitat diversity enriches a wild landscape. As Kate and I explored Manhattan for a few days, I tried to look at the cityscape through the eyes of NYC inhabitants. Impossible, of course. I won’t pretend that I know anything about cities from a city person’s perspective. In a sense I’m writing about something I know nothing about, and I’m sure I’ll prove it. I can only relate the city to my own experience.
A city is a landscape with habitats that support people, plants, and other animals. City habitats have their own energy, water, and food flow patterns; their own microclimates.
If you’ve followed me on Instagram (@bhfootloose), you know that I’m fascinated with habitat. Click the next two images if you want to learn more about the sea life that lives in habitats of the intertidal zone between high and low tide, or to read about the diverse plants in the small space at the base of a tree in the Southeast Alaska rainforest.
Walking with Kate through Battery Parkand along the esplanade at the edge of saltwater on the west shore of Manhattan Island, I began to think about how much value pocket parks add to the city. Pocket parks are tiny spaces dedicated to the enjoyment of everyone. They may look like a garden, with plants and soil, or they may display sculpture, offer benches to rest on, or perhaps chessboards for public use.
And speaking of gardens, check out the image of the urban farm in Battery Park. I find it interesting that all of us can recognize one of these pocket parks when we see one. They contrast with the crammed buildings, the use of every square inch of space that defines a city, where land is astronomically expensive.
People live in habitats just like wild animals do. A diversity of habitats, makes a place attractive to a wider variety of people with their own needs, also similar to wildlife. It’s true, of course, that we must first fulfill our basic needs for food, water, and shelter. Beyond these, however different people have different needs. The closeness of city life may feel more secure than living and recreating in wild places. Or the reverse. People may seek solitude, a chance to be near birds and living plants, a meeting place for friends, enjoyment of art, a chance to relax… an infinite and personal list.
Like other public parks and facilities, pocket parks are for the PUBLIC, a critical concept. So much of the land, and structures of a city are privately owned. Pocket Parks belong to everyone, so they let each of us define them as a place of our own, shaped by and fulfilling our personal needs.
What I heard from local residents and felt myself is that pocket parks made me happy. To walk along city streets of endless tall buildings without a gap except the streets, fully filled by stores and apartments, and then come upon a small open space with benches to sit on, perhaps with outdoor sculpture displayed, perhaps with nothing more than a shrubs and flowers (and inevitably birds and insects that I hadn’t seen for blocks), made me feel freedom, comfort, happiness.
So, my hat is off to every place that supports pocket parks. Thank you, NYC.