So when the fishing is slow we go hiking. And luckily we have better luck there. This little blackie was happily munching grass, keeping an eye out for salmon in Viner Sound.
One hike scared up a frog. Yes! a FROG!.. Ok, good, there's the excitement. A red-legged frog Rana aurora, (which is an awfully beautiful latin name for a frog) - this is the famous jumping frog of Calaveras County in Mark Twain's story. The little bugger could seriously jump.
The trail was built for dragging logs from the forest, and was hewn of some giant corduroy logs. It was easily 2-3 feet thick. If trail-builders in Alaska used logs this size, corduroy wouldn't have such a bad name.
The "recreation site" at the lake was somewhat suspect. If hopscotching on fallen timber to get a better view of the clearcut is your idea of reacreation potential, well you're a bit different, I guess.
A lovely couple of red-throated loons enjoyed it enough to stop, so I suppose there's some fish anyway.
And, as is with most hikes in the great bear rainforest with Chance, it ended in a dog bath. This stuff had a decidedly green tint to it, but was far better than most to wash off. We've caught him many times, as he discovers whatever it is he feels he needs to roll in, and look at us almost for permission. If we realize what it is he is thinking and yell a quick "NO!", he'll sort of lay his cheek near it and shudder, almost like he's had a run-in with the Dark side of the Force or something, and reluctantly wander away. 
We'll never understand what it is that drives a dog to look at something rotting and fetid, flies laying eggs in it, and say to themselves,
The trail was built for dragging logs from the forest, and was hewn of some giant corduroy logs. It was easily 2-3 feet thick. If trail-builders in Alaska used logs this size, corduroy wouldn't have such a bad name.
The "recreation site" at the lake was somewhat suspect. If hopscotching on fallen timber to get a better view of the clearcut is your idea of reacreation potential, well you're a bit different, I guess.
A lovely couple of red-throated loons enjoyed it enough to stop, so I suppose there's some fish anyway.
And, as is with most hikes in the great bear rainforest with Chance, it ended in a dog bath. This stuff had a decidedly green tint to it, but was far better than most to wash off. We've caught him many times, as he discovers whatever it is he feels he needs to roll in, and look at us almost for permission. If we realize what it is he is thinking and yell a quick "NO!", he'll sort of lay his cheek near it and shudder, almost like he's had a run-in with the Dark side of the Force or something, and reluctantly wander away. 
We'll never understand what it is that drives a dog to look at something rotting and fetid, flies laying eggs in it, and say to themselves, "Oh, my, that looks and smells utterly revolting."
"I HAVE to have that all over me."
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