Juneau, Alaska, Part 2: Climate and Habitats of the Pacific Rainforest
Wet. That is Juneau. That is what all of southeast Alaska is.
Lynn Canal from Auk Bay, Juneau. Watercolor on Arches 200# paper. 15x5”, unframed. Available for purchase. ©Sandy McDermott
Southeast Alaska receives an impressive amount of water, from about 27” (in Skagway) up to about 400” annually (southern Baranof Island) depending on location and elevation, with Juneau receiving about 90” annually (7.5’). Unlike the northern parts of the state, Juneau is a temperate rainforest. Temperatures are generally cool, hovering in the mid 40s, although some days it can feel quite warm or bitterly cold. It rains or snows 236 days per year. Steep rising mountains to the east and west border downtown Juneau creating a narrow valley. Creeks flowing from these mountains swell like veins with seasonal rainstorms and continue on flowing to the ocean.
Mouth of the Chilkoot in Haines, AK. Watercolor on Arches 200# paper. 4.5x4.5”, unframed. Available for purchase. ©Sandy McDermott
All this precipitation is due to the collision of cold wind currents and warm ocean currents.
Climate
Juneau’s climate is influenced by a powerful offshore wind called the Alaska Current, which races down from Siberia (akin to eastern U.S.’s Arctic Blasts). The Alaska Current works in concert with a warm ocean current called the Kuroshio Drift (the Pacific’s version of the Gulf Stream, sometimes referred to as the Black Current) that moves in a clock-wise direction north from Taiwan, up past Japan, east to southeast Alaska, and south down the northwest coast of continental U.S. Sea temperatures range from about 42˚F in winter to summer temperatures around 55˚F. This, combined with the winds and ocean current, is what produces a thick cloud cover 89% of the year over the region, and the massive amount of precipitation. This effectively creates the cool, wet temperate rainforest environment that extends south all the way to northern California. This is largely a coastal effect, as the adjacent mountains of the region effectively stop the winds from moving east.
Habitat
The Alaska Current and the Kuroshio Drift are the major force behind all the rain. All this water coming down from the sky translates into a voluminous network of wet habitats including lakes, streams, rivers, extensive fresh and saltwater marshes, wet meadows and muskegs. The rocky intertidal zones are also important to the area for a number of species. Curious to an easterner only accustomed to the common crow, the Northwest Crow are commonly viewed foraging intertidal habitats. Water in southeast Alaska is also present in solid form as glaciers and high country snowfields. These highly varied habitats provide niches for a great many species of flora and fauna.
All of this sits within the Tongass National Forest. At 16.7 million acres, the Tongass National Forest is by far the largest of all U.S. national forests.
These habitats are vividly etched into my memory.
Eagle Beach State Recreation Area, sketchbook. ©Sandy McDermott
Impressive, forceful and roaring waterfalls; soft, rusty-orangey-olivey-sienna muskegs; jagged-topped mountains that rise up with dizzying grades; dark forests covered in massive, fallen trees and a thick bed of moist, emerald-green mosses; a shoreline populated with islands small and quite large (some views reminded me of the coast of Maine a little bit); beaches wide with tan-colored sand, busy with eagles and bears feeding on salmon; narrow and steep streets moving with the daily activity of Native Alaskans, westerners, and tourists alike; grey skies and salt marshes alive with the rhythm of life and death; driving in an October snowstorm through high-altitude black spruce forests that broke as we approached a landscape of enormous mountains, some in the 10-12k height, glaciers and miles-long lakes. My brain still holds clear memories of all of this.
I walked on the forest floor crisscrossed with immense logs and a blanket of emerald-green moss. While teetering across one of those massive logs I slipped and fell on my bum trying to short-cut across a drop in the land contour. The moss was so thick and wet and soft. Trekking over it was a quiet a fun affair. Until I fell.
Mendenhall Wetlands looking northwest, sketchbook. ©Sandy McDermott
I visited the Mendenhall Wetlands State Game Refuge many times to view birds and sketch the landscape. Although, once hunting season began in September, I was cautious to visit only with a local who could advise best times to go.
Every single day we witnessed the dramatic tides of the Gastineau Channel and the daily rhythm in which fish, birds and mammals operate because of it, as our condo was situated right at the edge of a muddy saltmarsh. We literally had front row seats to life on an intertidal saltmarsh.
Nootka Lupine, sketchbook. ©Sandy McDermott
I hiked a few low trails and a few really scary ones that brought me high above the Gastineau Channel and the city of Juneau. My first hike was up Mount Roberts. For reasons I did not understand at the time I struggled on this hike, to the point that I decided to stay just below the summit in a high meadow habitat where Grouse, Mountain Goats and Marmots spend part or all of their days. Up here there are unseen holes in the ground leading to mineshafts that, if you are careless and wander off-trail, you could fall into. Many small ponds pepper the high meadows, too. The next big hike was the Juneau Ridge Trail, an unofficial trail (meaning, unmaintained) popular among the adventurous locals. Here we saw only ravens and eagles for wildlife, flying high enough to see the Juneau Ice Field. Going from east to west and at about 15 miles long, it led down the other end into a valley filled with glacier erratics and the headwaters of the Granite Creek and the spectacular Granite Valley. Gratefully, I felt strong on that hike.
I hiked through a quiet forest to reach the base of the Hubbard Glacier, jogging out to beat the disappearing daylight.
Mendenhall Wetlands. Watercolor on Arches 200# paper. 8.5x5”, unframed. Available for purchase. ©Sandy McDermott
Gastineau Channel and Lynn Canal at Sunset. Watercolor on watercolor sketch paper. 6x8” unframed. Available for purchase. ©Sandy McDermott
Museum sketches. Wolf and Black Bear. ©Sandy McDermott
Museum sketches. Chum Salmon and Harlequin Duck. ©Sandy McDermott
I hiked around a muskeg, careful to stay on the boardwalks to minimize risk of harming delicate plants or risk of sinking hip deep into the soft, deep peat substrate. The muskeg colors captured the senses. Muskegs are like our bogs except far more ancient. The difference is based on the depth of peat. Punctuated with stunted trees (mainly on dry-ish hummocks) but otherwise open to the sky, muskegs are a place of acidic water low in nutrients due to the lack of decomposing organic materials. Plants of the muskegs share features with those adapted to dry conditions, often referred to as xeromorphs. Some of the adaptations include a waxy cuticle, leaf margins that are rolled under and symbiotic fungi. You’ll find many plants from the heather family here, along with sedges, rushes, cotton grass and even a member of the rose family. Peat mosses and lichens thrive here, too. Aquatic insects can make a pretty good living in a muskeg but there are very few birds and mammals that do. One avian species that relies heavily on this habitat is the Greater Yellowlegs, a shorebird that nests in Alaska’s muskegs. A handful of other avian species will hunt or forage for food here, including woodpeckers, Stellar’s Jays, Dark-eyed Juncos, Olive-sided Flycatchers, Blue Grouse, Great Horned Owls, Sharp-shinned Hawks, Merlins and American Kestrels. Among mammals dependent on muskeg habitat for food and shelter are the Masked Shrew and Bog Lemming. These critters will bring in predators such as wolves, black bears, brown bears, short-tailed weasels and wolverines. Sitka black-tailed deer will forage seasonally in the muskegs. I would have liked very much to study this habitat in much greater detail.
One thing permeated all of these experiences: rain. Sometimes a simple mist moving drearily yet spellbindingly through the trees and mountainsides; sometimes it was dripping off the Sitka Spruces, Western Hemlocks and Sitka Alder; sometimes it was in the form of mist off a waterfall, formed by streams and rivers swelling into dangerously rushing force after a downpour. Sometimes it was snow beginning to cover the nearby peaks. Sometimes a bright rainbow was the reward for enduring.
Mount Juneau in Mist. Watercolor on 300# paper. 18x12.5”, unframed. Available for purchase. ©Sandy McDermott
One of the fondest memories of my experience in Juneau is seeing the school children outside playing no matter how wet the weather conditions. Yes! Playtime is that important. If you didn’t play in the rain, you didn’t go outside. So play in the rain they did as if it were a sunny day. Don the rain jackets and “Juneau slippers” (rubber boots) and go play tag or climb the monkey bars.
I can’t think of a better way to burn energy than to have some fun while outside. Maybe even in the rain.