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The persistent rain was wearing thin. Just when it seemed as though it could rain no more, an even larger deluge would spill from the clouds. I actually expected to see cats and dogs.

The unrelenting rainfall this summer on Prince of Wales Island in Southeast Alaska had been offset by a couple days of sunshine here and there, but overall the percentage of rainy days outweighed the sunny ones.

Now, in the last week of September, things begin to look a bit brighter even as the days grow shorter. One of those perfect Alaskan days is taking shape, so a friend and I head out for a short canoe trip up the Thorne River from a launch just outside of Thorne Bay.

The river is high, the air brisk, the sun shining and even the bugs are not a problem today. What more could you ask for? Paddling upstream is exhilarating yet wondrously quiet as the rocks and ripples slip by. An eagle glides across our path, then settles on a limb near the top of a huge, mossy tree, scanning the river with its notorious eagle eyes.

Brilliant reflections of verdant cedar and hemlock, blue-green spruce, deep-red highbush cranberry shrubs and stripes of faded grasses are boldy colorful this morning, converging in dizzying patterns as one struggles to find the horizon line.

Colorful spirals of alder leaves float on the breeze, tracing a path to the water where a few salmon still splash about. Others, encased in a fuzzy grayness, float by on the inexorable pull of the current. A belted kingfisher zooms by with a harsh, rattling reprimand to perch on a limb overhanging the river as a pair of fantastically blue Steller's Jays fuss noisily in shrubs further inland.

I think about the times I'd visited the same stretch of the Thorne River earlier this summer, dazzled by the clusters of white flowers on huge elderberry bushes as we paddled along, then awed by the splashes of red berries that replaced them later in the season. Plant growth was thick in summer near the river with thimbleberries, salmonberries, devil's club, blueberries, huckleberries, the orchid-like monkey flower, purple and yellow violets, spring beauty and the aromatic mint plant that may cover large areas.

Hiking along the riverbank in July, I had discovered an abundance of baneberries, which had gotten a foothold on the bank and leaned out over the water, resplendent with shiny, red berries and green leaves.

Reportedly the only deadly poisonous berry native to Alaska, baneberries can be found from Southeast Alaska through the Kenai Peninsula, Bristol Bay and the Yukon River Basin. All parts of the plant are poisonous, especially the berries and roots. In the book, "Discovering Wild Plants," author Janice Schofield warns that, although they are very bitter and likely to be spit out, only two berries may be enough to kill a child while six will produce violent symptoms in a hearty adult with lethal consequences possible.

A deciduous, perennial herb, baneberry plants stand about one to three feet tall, growing in moist, shady clearings and along stream banks. Spring shoots somewhat resemble fiddleheads, flowers grow in small, rounded, white clusters on long stalks and the smooth, glossy, red or white berries have black dots on their ends.

Care should be given to double-check berry buckets for the inadvertent addition of baneberries when children are gathering red huckleberries along creeks.

Adults also apparently need supervision when visiting from other parts of the world. One year when I was guiding for a lodge on the island, a family of four had just arrived from Georgia and we stopped at Cavern Lake on the north end of Prince of Wales Island near El Capitan Cave. Here, a subterranean stream emerges from a cave that is fed by a lake on the hillside above the cave. Salmon swim up the stream on a rocky hillside with small waterfalls to reach the cave pool and swim through the cave system to the lake.

We decided to pick red huckleberries along the trail, which was going well for a while until the father came over to me with a handful of baneberries and asked, "Are these berries good to eat?" I immediately stressed that he should certainly NOT eat those, at which point he mentioned that he already had eaten about four! That was alarming news, but as it turned out he had not been impressed with the flavor and spit them out. Luckily, he suffered no painful consequences.

Growing near and among the baneberry plants were a number of poisonous Monkshood plants with striking, blue-purple flowers that resemble a monk's hood in shape. Another common poisonous plant that often grows along rivers and creeks, false hellebore, is beautifully draped in small greenish-yellow flowers in summer. It grows fast after its large leaves emerge in spring and may achieve eight feet in height.

Spring, summer and fall are all great times to be on a river fishing for trout and salmon while, depending on where you go, possibly seeing beavers, deer, black bears, mink, river otters, ducks, swans and many other birds at one time or another.

I recalled the day when five large river otters startled me as I was fishing on the Thorne River below Gravelly Creek. Appearing out of nowhere on the steep, wooded hillside across the river, the otters proceeded to charge down through the trees, plunging one by one into the river, only to gather for a conference in a pool before collectively proceeding downstream toward the estuary and bay.

In winter, river otters are often observed moving around on the frozen rivers, diving into open water to fish where they can. I watched a river otter in March as it moved around on the snowy beach where it had emerged from the river. It walked around a bit, then rolled in the snow, shook off and dove back in the water only to emerge shortly with a small fish.

A few years back I was invited to join a couple other hearty types on their annual Audubon Christmas Bird Count canoe ride, which commenced just above the Thorne River Bridge (or wherever we could get the canoe in through the snow and ice) and took us to the bay. In the bow, a bird biologist rattled off names of birds she identified by listening to their songs high above in the treetops. The main paddler and steerer sat, of course, in the stern getting plenty of exercise and I, paddleless and cold, took notes from my position mid-boat.

I made segments of videos in between penciling in the bird names as we busted through the ice in places and sailed past dumbfounded ermine. Numerous times we flushed groups of ducks that seemed to fly a short distance downstream then land again, so counting them became tricky.

We're very fortunate in Southeast Alaska to be on the migratory route of Trumpeter Swans heading north in early spring. They move around, looking for open water on rivers and lakes as the weather warms, then gets chilly again. In a few places on Prince of Wales Island, swans can occasionally be seen while driving the main roads.

When the summer heat wave soars to 80 degrees, Southeast Alaskans head to the river to cool off because it is HOT. A few years back, I even tried the local rope swing from the rocks out to the deep pool in the Thorne River at the advice of my teenage sons. Then we swam downriver through the rocks, rubbing elbows with salmon and trout.

For now I'm content to stay put in the canoe and skip the swim. The canoe ride scenery has been spectacular and we pull over to the bank for one last stretch and to have a look around. I glance across the river just in time to see a small Sitka black-tailed deer staring back, no doubt pondering our unexplainable presence.

We could explore forever on and around Southeast Alaska's rivers and I, for one, plan to give it a good go.