Sunny day prompts thoughts about strange weather patterns & offers plentiful delights

About to begin a Sunday afternoon walk with my friend William and canine companion Denali, I noticed a strange sensation on my face: the warmth of bright sunshine touching skin.

“Wow, look at that,” I shouted with unabashed glee while turning my gaze toward the sky. “The sun is out!”

The sun’s appearance did seem something of a small miracle and cause for celebration, especially when our solar system’s singular star continued shining upon the Anchorage area for the next several hours (even if hidden briefly now and then by clouds).

At least in my part of town, just about all the neighbors took advantage of that sunny circumstance to get outdoors, no rain gear required. Many moons have passed since I’ve seen so many smiling dog walkers. People seemed downright giddy, whether walking dogs, mowing lawns, riding bikes, or tending to their gardens.

As anyone who lives in Southcentral Alaska is well aware, most of August—and July before it—has been gray, somber, and wet. And as those gray, wet days have piled up, the month has at times seemed exceedingly dreary. But then we humans tend to be fickle sorts. It wasn’t so long ago that we were practically begging for rain, to end early summer’s drought conditions.

Through the first three weeks of August, the National Weather Service’s (NWS) Anchorage office recorded 5.65 inches of rain, nearly three times the “norm” of 1.90 inches through Aug. 21. That total was boosted considerably by a single storm that drenched our city with 1.61 inches of moisture during one 24-hour period, the most in 18 years according to NWS climate researcher Brian Brettschneider.

With 10 days to go until month’s end, Anchorage had recorded the third-highest August rainfall total ever, though it seems unlikely we’ll top the record of 9.77 inches, set in 1989 (the second-highest August rainfall, 8.37 inches in 1997, also seems out of reach, but might be attainable with a couple of good rainstorms).

The combination of extended drought conditions—the period from early April through early July was the driest in our city’s history—followed by a thorough soaking that has now lasted some seven weeks, has made for the strangest Anchorage summer weather I can recall. And it hasn’t been Anchorage alone. Much of our state experienced weeks of extreme dryness in late spring and early summer, combined at times with record-setting heat and unprecedented wildfires. Then the heavenly floodgates opened, leading to an unusually long spell of wetness that has included what Brettschneider calls “high precipitation events.”

This crazy mixture has impressed even weather forecasters and climate researchers. Rick Thoman, a climate specialist at UAF, has aptly called it “weather whiplash extraordinaire.” And Brettschneider has compared it to a switch being flipped, “quite dramatically.”

In short, it’s been a summer of extremes here in Anchorage.

For a long time it seemed soaking rains would never arrive; then it’s been like a faucet that can’t be turned off. Fortunately for us, it’s been more of a drip, drip, drip than the torrential downpours that have caused catastrophic flooding in some parts of the world. Similarly, our early summer drought didn’t lead to any disastrous wildfires locally. Still, as noted above, some unparalleled wildfires blazed across remote parts of Alaska, most notably the Southwest region, where more than 1.2 million acres burned, a record for that region.

Increasingly extreme weather is what climate change models predict for our planet, as the Earth’s atmosphere continues to warm. I’d suggest we got a taste of that here in Anchorage this summer and it certainly seemed to grab the attention of many residents, even if there were no awful consequences—except, perhaps, for the homeless folks who ended up in the Centennial Park campground because of failed strategies by our city’s administration.

In a curious way, Sunday’s unexpected bounty of bright and beautiful sunshine is what led me to consider writing about the strange—and in my experience, unparalleled—weather we’ve experienced in Anchorage this summer, especially the abrupt shift from drought to deluge. Though, to be sure, our crazy summer weather is something I’ve reflected upon quite a bit of late, as the string of wet, gray days has shown no sign of ceasing.

At the same time, Sunday’s sunny break opened me to a greater variety of “small, wild wonders” than I’ve noticed in quite a while. Whether that’s because I was more observant when soaked in sunlight than I’ve been when pelted by rain, or because the sun’s warmth drew other creatures out of hiding, is hard to say. Maybe a little of both.

Whatever the reasons, here’s some of what grabbed my attention on that lovely day. While walking through Kincaid Park, I happened upon the first bumblebee I’d noticed in weeks. That bee’s buzzing presence was followed by the equally rare sighting (at least this August) of a butterfly, the mourning cloak fluttering through the forest and then landing on a nearby bush, sharing its winged beauty.

Minutes later, the movements of small songbirds caught my attention. Upon stopping I could make out Wilson’s and orange-crowned warblers moving among red-berried elder bushes and birch trees, the first warblers I’ve seen in a long while, likely fattening up for their journey south. And shortly after that, a strikingly patterned orb-weaving spider perched in the middle of her web grabbed my attention.

On other, shorter walks, I strolled among loudly chattering chickadees, their voices cheering as always and, to my ears, cheerful in nature, and on this day accompanied for a few moments by robin song, the first I’d heard in weeks and unusual this late in summer. In my own neighborhood, blue darner dragonflies zoomed here and there. And though they’ve benefited from our abundant August moisture, it was only on this sunny day that I noticed the great number of tiny white mushrooms called snowy waxcaps that had fruited among the grass and clover; like the day, they were bright and beautiful.

For all of these gifts, and others, I give thanks, including the soaking rains that our local landscape so desperately needed after a too-long stretch of the gloriously bright, clear blue-skies and sunny summer days that I love so much.

Anchorage nature writer Bill Sherwonit is a widely published essayist and the author of more than a dozen books, including “Living with Wildness: An Alaskan Odyssey” and “Animal Stories: Encounters with Alaska’s Wildlife.” Readers wishing to send comments or questions directly to Bill may do so at akgriz@hotmail.com