Forest Patina

The forest begins to darken. The sun is still high in the sky and a glance at my watch lets me know it's close to noon. Clouds had been drifting across the sky all morning, but this wasn't a cloud dimming the light through the trees - this was the closeness of the trees.

This is the kind of forest where I slow down, a forest out of a Grimm's brothers fairy tale where children are eaten and lost wanderers wake in a land of elves and not the Orlando Bloom kind. I both love and fear the closeness of the forest. I love it for the silence and stillness that lets me breathe deeply the earthy air while trying to calm my racing heart. It's the closed character of the forest I fear. I'm a bit claustrophobic so not being able to see far makes my heart quicken. I also have a vivid imagination so every drip from mist laden tree, every rustling of a critter I have to stop and listen and remind myself that all is well. That a wicked witch isn't coming to cook me in a stew like my sister would often tell me as children.

My pace slows as I push aside my apprehension to appreciate the beauty around me. In a forest this dense little light gets through the canopy above so the under story is sparse. It's winter now and I wonder if any of the small woodland flowers are able to brighten the side of the trail. Little white foam flowers, maybe some twin flower. A speckling of white against the dark soil and duff.

Dark and moist coastal air is perfect habitat for lichens and moss which I'm finding plenty of during my hike through Hoypus Point. Off in the narrow distance I see the greyish green of what I've heard refer to a Forest Patina (I googled it and google has no idea what I'm talking about). Just look at the image above, the lichens on the tree trunks give an appearance of copper as it ages. The same complexion as the Statue of Liberty.

Our Pacific Northwest forests are perfect for lichens and mosses and even algae to grow on the trunks of trees. And while the light hasn't changed in this section of the forest, it seems brighter now. Less foreboding, more welcoming. I find the patina to have an almost ghostly effect. I pause to wonder why these trees? Why this spot? Had I just not noticed the patina until now?

I softly lay a hand against the green bark and smile before heading back into the dark forest.

Progression of Sunset

You've got a grand idea - take a road trip someplace to capture sunset. You've been eyeing this place for some time thinking that this will be a great place for sunset. So after packing a picnic because it will be dinner before sunset and you plan on eating at your special place, you drive a few hours to be in position. And sure enough, it's a great place to photograph sunset as you watch a crowd gather with chairs, blankets and their own picnics to watch nature's light show.

The sun sinks to the horizon. 

You shoot a few images, playing with exposures and apertures. 

The sun begins to fade behind the horizon.

You shoot a little more.

The sun disappears. 

The crowd applauds and disperses.

What do you do? Do you pack up and go home too? Or do you stay a while longer to capture the colors of twilight.

The following images are of the same sunset taken from Rosario Head at Deception pass State Park, but in two of the images my camera was pointed directly where the sun was going down. The other two, I pointed my camera more Southwest of the sunset to capture a different light.

The sun sinks behind the horizon.

And is gone.

Looking southwest just after sunset.

And about 20 minutes after sunset.

Do you know when it is time to go home?

Whistle Lake

Anacortes Community Forest Lands 12/8/07 4 miles

As far as I'm concerned there are only two things that make winter hiking not worthwhile. First, in the Northwest winter means rain and who wants to hike in the rain? Second, with the rain falling in the lowlands, snow is falling in mountains and although I love to snowshoe, I like to consider hiking & snowshoeing two completely different sports and who wants to hike in the snow? And since I don't want to hike in the snow, that means lowland hikes in the trees, with few views except for tree trunks, salal, and sword ferns.

When I saw the hike for Whistle Lake and Toot Marsh advertised through the Mountaineers with the tag-line, "We stop for pictures," I had to sign up. Then we got a break. After a week of rain and clouds, the blue sky broke through the clouds to warm our souls if not our noses.

Whistle Lake is in the Anacortes Community Forest Lands, used by the whole community for recreation and education. The area is criss-crossed by trails - some multiple use others hiker only. Luckily the trails that go round the lake are wheel-free, so we weren't disturbed by the dirt biker who showed up the same time we did. The other hikers & I enjoyed quiet and the occasional splash of sunlight through the trees.

And ever now and then stopped to take in the views of the lake, reflecting a more brilliant blue than the sky actually held with Madronas reaching over the banks, their limbs contorted in reflection by the rippling waters.