Juneau Empire Story Archive

A short journey on the 'Trail of Time'

Bears, photographers, former beaver dam spotted on lower loop

By MARY F. WILLSON

There are two interconnecting loop trails in the young forest behind the Mendenhall Glacier Visitor Center. The lower one, short and easy, is called the "Trail of Time." It can be walked in either direction, but for present purposes, I'll start at the visitor center. Behind the center, the trail goes over a flat area uncovered by the glacier during the 1900s. Near where the East Glacier Trail turns off to the left, there's a kettle pond, formed by a persistent slow-melting iceberg left behind by the retreating glacier. The flat area is now cloaked in mossy alders and small spruces. Last fall the bears raked up large expanses of moss in their quest for the underground parts of ground cone, the purple-brown flowering spike of a plant parasitic on alder roots. At places along this part of the trail, one can see markers on the rocks that indicate the diminishing extent of the glacier as time passed. The end of the flat stretch is occupied by the old Civilian Conservation Corps shelter, the junction with the end of the East Glacier loop, and a bridge over Steep Creek.

The creek plunges off the back side of Thunder Mountain (one can see the first, long falls from the highway), fed in part by snowmelt in the subalpine bowl below the ridgetop. Stand on this bridge and look downstream. There's a nice cascade over bedrock, and the water then goes around a corner. Where the water disappears from sight, look a bit to the right and see a steep-walled canyon, now full of small trees. This canyon was once the path of meltwater from the retreating glacier and Nugget Creek - a roaring torrent that was a spectacle for early tourists in the area. At this time the glacier extended over the site of the visitor center and there was no Mendenhall Lake. Old photos have allowed local history buff Jim Geraghty to identify several landmarks now hidden in the brush (stay tuned for his forthcoming book).

Continue then across the bridge, down the little slope to the raised walkway that passes over Steep Creek again. Sockeye and coho salmon can make their way to this small pond and a bit beyond, but the falls below the upper bridge prevent further upstream movement. From this walkway, one might see dippers foraging for aquatic insects in the gravels, small fish, and drifting (and therefore already doomed) salmon eggs. In salmon season, bears patrol this area and on down to the mouth of the creek, feeding on fish and leaving carcasses all along the banks.

This walkway is the site of the recent adventure of photographers Bob Armstrong and Arnie Hanger. These two guys, intent on photographing birds, looked up to find themselves where nobody ever wants to be. A female black bear with a cub was growling at one end of the walkway, and at the other end was a second cub, bawling for its mama. Well! Over the railing and into the creek went the two photographers, and over the walkway stalked a proud mama bear to reunite her family. Everybody wins!

After the walkway, the trail forks, but both routes lead to the highway. The lefthand one parallels the creek. This part of the creek in recent years was a pond backed up behind a beaver dam at the highway culvert. One can see numerous beaver-chewed trees and some worn spots where beavers habitually trundled from their pond, over the trail, to the pond on the other side. The beaver pond is gone now, because the dam was destroyed and most or all of the beavers were forcibly removed.

Just across the highway from the end of the trail is a sizable pond below the culvert. Adult sockeye and, later, coho often mill around here before passing through the culvert. In late summer this can be a good place to watch great blue herons, both adults and juveniles, foraging for small fish. Ravens and bald eagles sometimes gather in the surrounding trees, and one might see a mink skulking along the shore.

• Mary F. Willson is a retired ecology professor and a Trail Mix board member.

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