Heidi's Hotspots: Lake Crescent

There are some pretty spectacular lakes in the Northwest: Crater Lake, Lake Chelan, Stanley Lake. They are set in stunning mountain scenery and visited as destinations in their own right. Ranked right there with them is the gem of Lake Crescent.

Located in the northwestern corner of the Olympic Peninsula, Lake Crescent is an easy destination for daytrippers and vacationers. And the trip will not disappoint. The heavily forested mountains on the north of the peninsula cradle the crystal clear blue waters creating beautiful views from any vantage point.

Highway 101 hugs the southern shore of the lake and there is no shortage of all those beautiful views. It's one of those winding roads motorcyclists and sports car drivers dream of, but be careful. The speed limit is 35 for a reason. Bicyclists ride on the narrow road and the lake has a long history of people driving off the road, the most notable is Blanch and Russell Warren who drove into the lake in the 20's and no one really knew what happened to them until 2002 when their car was found by divers.

But I would hate to drive fast on this road and miss all the opportunities for gawking at the views and pulling off at the ample pull-outs along the way.

And when you're done driving Highway 101 along the lake shore, head to one of the trailheads for the railroad grade trail and meander along the "backside" of Lake Crescent. It's a fairly flat 4 miles one way and leads you past Devil's Punchbowl - a very popular swimming hole.

When is the best time to go? Anytime. Spring brings new growth and roadside waterfalls. Summer brings recreationists playing on the water. Fall colors line the shore in autumn. And of course winter capped mountains are a must see, reflected in the still waters. I've never been disappointed by my favorite lake.

Heidi's Hotspots: Olympic Peninsula: The Hoh Rainforest

Admittedly, the Hoh Rainforest is one of my favorite places on earth.

That's a BIG statement!

I have been to all manner of sights and locales and yet I can right now, right here tell you that my favorite place on earth is a big wet temperate rainforest just miles from the Pacific Ocean.

Yes. For me, the Arizona deserts, Utah Canyons, Canada's mountains all hold special places in my heart and dreams but my go-to happy place is the quiet yet frenzied world that is the Hoh.

Here you can be lost and found in the same breath. Exalt in the openness of nature and feel an overt claustrophobia. You can listen to the flute-like voices of elk with a percussion of dripping from moss and here is where you'll find the quietest inch. You can spend a lifetime visiting yet find something new tucked away among the most familiar. When you are lonely, the moss laden trees become fast friends.

Come here on an overcast day. Even with the thick overstory, sunlight streaming through the leaves can create harsh light and shadows on the scenery. An overcast day gives you soft light, no harsh shadows with blown out highlights. But finding a cloudy day shouldn't be too hard. With rainfall as much as 12 feet a year, there are plenty of grey days. So also bring something to protect yourself and your camera from the wet elements. Even when it's not raining, water drips off the curtains of moss.

If photographing in a forest is a little intimidating, try focusing on small forest vignettes. The Hoh is filled with so much life that the idea of simplifying your image at first mind boggling. There are huge trees everywhere you turn. How do  you create simplicity when there is so much in your viewfinder?

Well, start small with mushrooms and moss.

Look to your feet for tiny things growing and living there.

Find the patterns in the understory.

Point your camera straight up into the top story.

Use a wide angle to get as much in as possible but then use a telephoto to compress the elements together.

Set up your tripod for multiple exposures then blend them later.

Hand hold your camera with a slow shutter speed for a more impressionistic image.

I other words, play. I give you permission to just play with your camera while in the Hoh. Maybe you'll see why this place has become my favorite place.

To get there: From Forks, drive south on Highway 101 to the Hoh River Road. Follow the road to the end. There is a National Park Entrance Fee to access the Hoh Rain Forest.

For more information on visiting the Hoh and Olympic National Park, please visit their website.

Pink Duct Tape, a Nasty Wave and Crab Legs

It was a great morning on the beach. Sunrise cast a pink glow on the horizon and the diffuse light began to softly lighten up the tidepools as the Pacific Ocean retreated from the beach. I stepped out of my tent, stretched reached back into the tent for my camera, grabbed the tripod and happily skipped to the tidepools.

Ok, maybe not skipped, but I felt like skipping. It was that kind of a morning.

I spent time photographing sea stars with water swirling around them. I had tried this the night before and thought I might have a good image or two but I wanted to keep working with the slow shutter speeds, sea foam and sea stars  With polarizer on my lens to cut down on any glare and to help lengthen my shutter speed, I went from sea star to tide pool to sea star adjusting the polarizer when needed.

Then it happened, I plopped the tripod and camera into a new position and heard a kerplunk. Looking down into the waves rushing back down the beach, I saw my polarizer dancing in the waters as it went happily out to sea.

F***! I watched in disbelief as my filter disappeared into the surf. I looked at the sea anenomes I was wanting to photograph, picked up my camera & tripod and sullenly trudged back up the beach listing in my head my equipment malfunctions over the past year - broken lens, camera held together with pink duct tape, broken tripod, broken filter, make that 2 broken filters and now a filter lost to the sea. What was wrong with me that I keep breaking my equipment?

I sat on a drift log to eat breakfast ruminating about my bad luck and thought of all the photographers the night before with their pretty cameras, tripods that weren't borrowed, fancy lenses and a supply of fresh filters. Then I looked at my poor little camera, covered in pink duct tape sitting lamely on the tripod I had borrowed from my boss, filterless lens pointed out to the sea. I suck!

The shadows from the trees behind me shortened, lighting more of the beach. I looked up the beach to the rocks and the patterns made by the armies of barnacles. Cool patterns. I need some texture images. And heck, I can still make damn nice images with my duct taped camera.

That's a minor issue - my equipment still works, I just need to work with what I got and this is what I got right now. At least my creativity didn't get swept out to sea. Now that would be a major problem.

So I grabbed the camera off the tripod and walked up the beach to see what I could see. I finally did go back to the site of the filter incident and photographed the sea anemone with crab legs sticking out of it that had originally attracted me to that spot.

The above image? That is the sea star at twilight I had made the previous night . . . with a filter.

Seeing the Unexpected

I needed to go backpacking and had looked at a trip offered by the mountaineers but it was full with a wait list. The trip, Cape Alava, a favorite early season hike of mine, but I hadn't been on the trail for years. Then a few days before the group left, a spot opened up. I quickly grabbed the spot and was so happy to be getting out on a great weekend. Only one problem surfaced as I was heading to meet my carpool - I forgot my tent. UGH! It wouldn't be the 1st time I slept out under the stars on the beach but as the group pooled our equipment, we were able to come up with a plan that had me sleeping in a tent & not under the stars. Although the stars would be nice.

We started out in cloudy and a little drizzly weather, but we entered the old trees of the forest quickly and were protected from most of the wet. I do like hiking with groups especially when we can chat throughout the hike which makes the miles slip away. In no time we were hearing the waves along the beach and looked through the trees with anticipation. We set up camp in the trees and sat back to watch the tide recede to expose the rocks & tide pools.

Cape Alava is an interesting area of the coast. It's lined by rocks farther out from the beach, protecting the beach and the tide pools from crashing waves. When the tide is out, rocks and great varieties of seaweed are exposed. I can only imagine the forest of seaweed when the tide comes in. An underwater oasis for small fish and sea creatures. This area also lends itself nicely for calm reflections of the off shore sea stacks. But it wasn't reflections I was looking for as I meandered down the beach with my camera - I was looking for that sunset light and color.

And as it often happens along the coast, a bank of clouds rested upon the horizon obscuring the last light of the day. I continued to shoot even without the amazing colors. I have had sunset shoot like this before, no color, no drama yet came out with images I loved. Besides I wasn't ready to go back to camp even with the scent of campfire drifting down the beach.

I wandered out to a little spit of sand quickly being devoured by the incoming tide and saw what I had not seen before. Pastel colors reflected in the still water, a mirror image of the sea stack, the ripples of sand under the water. I was able to get off a couple of quick shot before the tide took over my viewpoint. What I came away with will again be one of my favorite images although not exactly what I was looking for.

Happiness is . . .

I had gotten an email from a friend Friday morning wanting to know what I was doing on Saturday - the weather would be fabulous & she knew I was one of only a few friends who wouldn't complain if she wanted to take the 5:35 ferry out of Edmonds to go on a snowshoe adventure. However, I had committed myself to a snowshoe event with my sister. It would be a great day for the views at Hurricane Ridge & not the tromping through the trees at Stevens Pass for the event. Luck would have it though, the event was funding Susan G Komen Foundation and after the flap earlier in the week regarding funding of Planned Parenthood, my sister & her friends were done with their support of Komen. She cancelled. And I was waking up at 3:30 to go to Hurricane Ridge.

The trip really only hit one snag, a car sized boulder in the road that closed the road for and extra hour. But we weren't bothered by this - a quick trip back to town for second breakfast and a cup of coffee later and we were on our way again. The parking lot at the visitor center was already filling up, but there was still plenty of room as we parked our car and started of on our day.

We weren't in a hurry to get anywhere. In fact we didn't relly care if we got to the top of Hurricane Hill at all. We meandered along the snowy road, heading off into the woods anytime we thought we might see a view or just for a small change of pace. Some of the snow was just too much to resist and I threw myself into a snow bank, on Mary's recommendation, to make snow angels.

Once we hit the end of the road, the "work" began - a steady and often steep climb up the first knoll to the ridge. The rest of the climb to Hurricane Hill would follow the ridge. The views we had been admiring all morning became even more incredible as we climbed. We stopped for a while taking pictures until we couldn't stand the biting wind anymore and continued on our way. It was too far past the first hill that we came to a section of trail that cut into the snow along a cliff. I didn't like the looks of it, even less so when as I watched a group go by one of their number slipped. Nope I was done.

Mary & I started back to the visitor center for some hot cocoa before calling it a day, smiles on our faces.

A Little Fall Color

Hoh Rainforest, 10/23/09-10/25/09

When I was a young girl, my family would spend a week in the Hoh Rainforest every other summer. Some summers were wetter than others and I can remember hours spent inside our trailer reading as rain pattered on the roof and windows. There was something special in the rainforest. I knew it even then. So now when I want some time to feel the primal forces of life, I head to the rainforest. I love the rainforest in the summer, but began to appreciate what the forest had to offer in the autumn and will often take refuge in the cooler damper days of October.

This year I took a group of photographers with me to explore the old growth trees adorned with thick moss. We camped in the campground inside the park and woke to elk foraging through the undergrowth. A few of my fellow campers gathered at a safe distance to set up cameras as the elk settled in for a mid-morning nap. We took our leave of the dozing elk to meander through the Hall of Mosses nature trail.

We stopped to photograph a Pileated Woodpecker high on a snag. A stream then held our attention for a while before we started up the hill to the trail. Our group laughed and talked and photographed all morning and early afternoon. On our way out wee were stopped by the sighting of a Northern Pygmy Owl and we just couldn't seem to tear ourselves away. But we had to as the promise of a sunset at Ruby Beach was becoming more of a reality.

As we sat at Ruby Beach waiting for the sun to lower below the horizon we noticed our promise of color would be blocked by a fast approaching cloud bank. Not wanting to waste an opportunity, I began to photograph the waves as they came up the beach. Their foam trails heading back out to sea excited me and the rest of the group had to pull me away for dinner.

The next morning, the elk had moved on and so would we - onto Sol Duc Falls and more moss-covered forest. Each photographer that had joined me on my outing to my corner of living forest came away with great memories, photos and stories.

Beachy Keen

Shi Shi Beach, 9/19/09-9/20/09, 8 miles, 50 elevation

Remoteness. Very few beaches in America offer this kind of remoteness. Yet even on a beautiful summer day Shi Shi Beach can be extremely crowded. Wait until after Labor Day when the crowds lessen and the sun highlights the sea stacks with a beautiful light.

I took a group of photographers out to the south end of the beach called Point of Arches at the end of September. I wanted to be there when the sun would pass through a certain arch. I had yet to capture this magical moment, so wanted another try. I began to worry as we drove out that we may not see the sun at all. But the clouds started to break up as we hiked the short trail out to the beach. The sun warmed our faces during our beach walk - the trail drops us off at the north end of the beach and it's another 2 miles to Point of Arches. We passed a few other campsites along the way. Point of Arches was empty - perfect.

Once we set up camp, we all separated to explore the beach, sea stacks and tide pools. We shared ideas and pointed out great photo ops finally pulling ourselves away from our activity once the sun was down & we were ready for dinner. A campfire was built and we sat around sharing stories & laughter. Interspersed with our stories moments of silence as we stopped to gaze at the stars above us, jewels in the night sky. A few campfires along the beach seemed to reflect the show in the sky.

The next morning, the air gleamed fresh. We quickly ate breakfast before grabbing our cameras to take advantage of the marvelous morning light. It was a chore to tear ourselves away to break camp and get to the north end of the beach before we lost the light. We made it though and got a few more pictures before heading back home.

A Grand Hike

Grand Ridge/Grand Valley, 8/22/09, 12 miles, 2500 elevation

Starting from Obstruction Point in the Olympics can make for a long day, but the trails leading from the end of the road there are marvelous to behold. And when you link several together in a large loop, you come away with a very satisfying hike. I've been wanting to share this special place with others and my opportunity came when we began looking at hikes for the Mountaineers' Conditioning Hike Series.

I was first introduced to this area many years ago by my sister. She was intrigued with this road that our family always seemed to avoid when we were children. After our steep descent on the road, we understood. Mother was afraid of heights, and to get out to the trails the road wound along some very steep cliffs. At least they would have seemed that way to her. We found a loop on the map and decided that Badger Valley to Grand Lake and over Grand Ridge would be a wonderful way to spend the day. So we toughed out the road, toughed out the trail, and toughed out the drive. In the end we were both taken by the beauty and it became one of our favorites.

I later did sections of the trip with Michael. He too became so enamored with the area that a fifteen hour day to get there and back was never questioned. We had met one of the biggest marmots ever while hiking these trails along with exquisite flower displays. (No wonder the marmot was so huge.) But we would run into several obstacles when thinking who we could introduce this trail to - not the least of which was the difficulty of the primitive trail from Elk Mountain to Badger Valley. Finally, we decided to give the CHS class a chance. Students jumped at the opportunity.

To start off on our route, we had to traverse what is called the head-wall along a narrow path of flattened talus. We took it slow to make sure our hikers had their feet under them. But the hesitation some felt gave way to delight as we crested the ridge to views of Mt Baker, Vancouver Island and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. We would have stayed on the ridge a little longer, however autumn was felt in the wind and we again took refuge on the trail behind the ridge. Not long after we met up with a fat-butt marmot walking on our trail. He stopped to pose a while then waddled off the trail to let us pass.

The way down to Badger Meadows from here is along an almost abandoned primitive trail - no longer maintained by the park, just the few dozen hiking boots that dare follow the little dotted line on the map. This was the section that made Michael & I hesitate about bringing others with us. The way is full of loose rock and dirt, steep inclines and frightening drop-offs. Everyone seemed ready if not a little reticent, so with Michael in the rear to help anyone along and to chat with them to keep their minds off what they were walking on, we slowly started downward. It took us longer than I expected but we kept the pace slow and I would coach people down the rougher spots as Michael offered reassuring words from behind. And soon we were walking through the meadows that in July are filled with flowers and marmots. Some of our hikers were ecstatic - they would never have thought they could have hiked a trail as forgotten as that one. And yet they did - smiles were shared all around.

We stopped in a wide meadow surrounded by mountains for lunch. We ate as we gazed upward at these mighty structures. The Olympics may not be as grand as the Sierras or the Rockies, but they never seem to fail to impress. A little more downhill and we were on our way to climbing up along Grand Creek to the lake. The afternoon was moving along to the sounds of laughter as we shared stories on the lake shore. One of our members even decided a swim would be just the thing before climbing out of the valley. And a climb it was going to be.

My first hike with Kristi left us both sweaty, exhausted and defeated. So much so that we vowed to make our impression on the "mountain" as soon as we reached the top. Our impression was in the form of posing victoriously topless. We made no such vows this time except what we'd be ordering at the Mexican restaurant when we got to town. A slow and steady climb got us to the top and along the ridge to the parking lot. Along the way are views of the interior of the the park and Mt Olympus sitting grandly in the center as if holding court. I marvel at the fact that no matter how tired a woman is when she gets to the trailhead, she still has enough energy to run to the outhouse. As we drove away, the resident buck came out to watch us leave before sniffing around looking for hand-outs.

For some, this was their toughest hike yet. As I looked around the table during our late dinner and saw the smiles and listened to the laughter, I knew that these hikers were as proud of themselves as I was that first trip so long ago. The milestones and accomplishments were different for each of us and we knew we had done something good with our day.

Coastal Forest

Kalaloch Nature Trail, 4/26/08, 2 miles

A good way to get to know a new area, or even an familiar one, is to take a hike n the local nature trail. Of all the years I'd camped at Kalaloch, I had never explored this little loop in the woods.

The coastal forest is in all its glory along the trail, with large trees blocking most of the sky so that the sunlight is filtered through green boughs making the forest floor a kaleidoscope of greens. Moss clings to anything it can. Shrubs fight for space, sunlight and nutrients in the soil - enough of a fight that they will grow anywhere they can get a toe-hold including the trunks of dead and even living trees. Flowers and mushroom spot the ground with often vibrant colors and sometimes muted tones.

A coastal forest is a place of life and in the early spring it is a place to see life blossom exponentially in the moist and nutrient rich world.

Storm Chasers

Rialto Beach 10/17/07

The forecast said winds, high winds, would be whipping through our area bringing with it the media hype only an early winter storm can bring. Ready for a little wind and wave action, Michael & I played hooky from work to head to the beach for the afternoon . . . the day BEFORE the storm was to hit. Poor timing wasn't all too bad for us.

After driving through the pouring rain around the north end of the peninsula, we made the decision to head to Rialto Beach near forks. The sea stacks there might lend themselves to some interesting pictures, if the weather held out. By the time we made it to Forks, the rain had lessened and was now coming in short showers between sun breaks.

The beach proved to be wonderful, with waves crashing on the shore - not as strongly as they would the following day - and blue sky overhead. Dark heavy clouds grew to the north of us and to the south. Waves blew sea foam into the tumble of driftwood as we made our way through the logs trying to avoid the waves and foam and the occasional squall. Looking back toward the east, a rainbow arched across the Quilleutte River. Clouds stretched from the storm clouds over the waves and sea stacks, across the blue sky.

We stayed until the sun set first turning the air golden then back to normal, as it lowered behind the clouds building on the horizon. Harbingers of the storm to come?

Wet Feet

Quinault Rainforest 7/27-7/29/07 24 miles

There is a reason why it's called a rain forest. If you need the help, here it is. It rains in the rain forest - even in the relatively dry days of July and August.

I had been planning a trip up the Quinault River through Enchanted Valley over Anderson pass and down into the Dosewallips River valley. But in 3 days we would have had two very long days of 10+ miles. Michael & I were just not in the shape to abuse our bodies in such a manner. So, we opted for a shorter hike up the North Fork Quinault River valley, then we'd head uphill to the Skyline Trail and back out again. 24 miles total with the longest day being 11 1/2 - whew!

We started out early Friday morning along the trail within earshot of the river. We were soon within view as it rumbled along over the rocks, twisting and curving around the sandbars. The first mile is a pleasant walk through green foliage sprinkled with splashes of blue & red berries hanging from shrubs and vines. At approximately 1 mile the trail crosses the river twice forcing hikers to ford the river without benefit of a bridge. I had never had to cross a river in such a manner - streams and creeks were no problem, but I was a little trepidatious about this crossing. After discussing the route with Michael, I took the plunge. The current pulled on my trekking poles and legs and the water frigid, but it was quite fun. I even asked if I could cross a couple more times after we crossed the second section.

Lunch was eaten at Wolf Bar camp another mile or so up the trail, a nice spot for a short afternoon break, if not a place to camp. But our camp was another 2 miles up river. We climbed out of the valley a bit, but never far from the river, as the forest became more dense around us. Moss appeared to cover everything. The moistness also presented a minor but irritating problem - mosquitoes. Out came the bug repellent so we could continue on in relative peace.

The moss-covered sign for Halfway House camp, our home for the evening, was soon at our feet. We found a campsite over-looking turquoise green pools as the river flowed through the canyon and thought it would be a wonderful evening to sleep under the stars. Remember those pesky little mosquitoes on the trail? Well they were in full military mode at our camp. Setting up the tent was our only refuge from the swarms around our heads. They may not have been landing, much, but they were damned irritating. We lounged around in the tent and as evening approached, we watched as clouds silently moved up the valley. But hey, it's the end of July, it's just clouds, no need to worry.About 4:30 in the morning, the rain started to fall. Michael quickly draped the rainfly over our tent and we settled down again for a couple more hours of sleep.

Saturday's hike would take us another mile up the river before we'd start a rigorous climb up the Elip Creek trail to the Skyline trail - a climb of almost 3000 feet in 4 1/2 miles. It would be long day for us as we are not fast climbers. By the time we got to the main trail from camp, my boots pant legs were soaked from the rain-moistened foliage of the surrounding shrubs. My feet would not be dry for the rest of the weekend. We turned off the main trail onto the Elip Creek trail and made our way up the ridge through the thick forest as it cleared to become tree-spotted meadow. By this time the clouds parted slightly to allow us views of the mountains toward the interior of the park. We contemplated staying in these meadows for the night as the view was stunning with the distant dark green valleys giving way to light green alpine meadow and snow crested peaks above those. But we continued on to our camp for the evening at Three Prune Camp.

We settled into our tent that evening after a quick dinner and listened to the rain as it splattered against the rainfly. I fell asleep to that sound and woke the next morning with the same spattering in my ears. The one nice thing about rain - the mosquitoes have better places to be than buzzing around our heads. My feet became wetter with each step as we made our way through the clouds that had embraced the ridge. Rain fell on us off and on throughout the morning as the trail led us past reflection lakes then Three Lakes camp before heading downhill and back into the trees. We saw no-one on the trail all morning until we came across a trail worker diligently clearing the trail of downed trees and over-grown shrubs.

Lunch was eaten at Big Creek where I rang out my socks, hopefully for the last time that day. The air had gotten warmer and we hadn't felt a drop of rain for several miles, so we peeled off our raincoats to finish off the last 4 miles. Within a mile the sun broke through the clouds to warm up the forest, we were already warm from the previous 7 miles. The trees seemed to glow with the light, finally showing itself. As we finally reached the valley, I noticed the trees of the forest had changed to big leaf maples arching over the moss-covered landscape. A creek wound its way through the trees, a lovely setting. But all I could think of was finding a spot to rest my still wet and aching feet. What I found was a mossy open stretch under moss laden maple branches. We rested a while, swatting away mosquitoes, enjoying the slight breeze and the opportunity to rest our feet. I could have stayed there longer, in this quiet and restful spot. But our car waited for us, a mile and a half away.

It didn't take us too long before we passed Irely Lake to the swamp that lay beyond. We had been warned by another couple about the swamp with mud several feet deep and an impossible route to follow. And here we stood, looking at a few random pieces of wood tracing out a possible trail. I went ahead, shaking my head and laughing at the predicament of top heavy backpackers making their way across 2" wide planks. Then I came to an area where there was no apparent way across. I decided to test the depth of the mud with my trekking pole - just how muddy would I have to get - when my pole thunked against a buried plank. I made it to solid ground and began coaching Michael across. The forest again changed to cedars with little undergrowth.

The sun soon glinted off of windshields and metal. Our 11 mile day was soon over and I smiled a smile of accomplishment. We stopped at the Quinault store for burgers, onion rings, and milkshakes. Warm food for our cold feet.

Breaking in Bonnie

Royal Creek 7/14-7/15/07 7 miles

My friend Bonnie has been listening for years as I regale her with my exploits in the woods. We had been hiking together, but Bonnie was ready for the next step - she wanted to go on an over-night expedition. So I planned a trip to Royal Lake on the Olympic Peninsula. It is 7-mile trip in to the lake - a respectable distance for me and a place I had been eyeing for several months. I also figured Bonnie, who is in good shape would also be able to manage.

On Saturday morning, I picked her up and we made our way to the trailhead. We started off strongly as we head up the Dungeness River, stopping to admire the rushing water as it roared down the valley. We began feeling our packs soon after the junction with the Royal Lake trail. A few rocks next to a sliver of a stream gave us an inviting welcome for a rest and a snack. But our way was becoming slower as the moss under the trees became more dense and covered everything in a thick green carpet.

As we passed 3500' marked with a sign warning campers not to use fires beyond this point (stoves only), I became a little worried that Bonnie might not make it all the way, we still had a bit of a climb to get to the lake. And after we met up with hikers heading back out with the news that wee had probably another 4 miles to go, I made the decision that the next suitable campsite we came across would be our home for the evening. Soon, we found a spot located a little downhill from the trail and not far from the creek as it splashed over rocks and around fallen trees.

Someone previously had used the area, if not as a camp but as a toilet and had left their toilet paper littered behind a tree. I will in a later blog expound on the Leave No Trace principles. I would have loved to give that lecture to whoever left the TP blooms. Bonnie couldn't resist and quickly busied herself burying the mess. As she was doing that, I noticed a fly convention a few yards from our tent. I had to investigate, because I would hate to find out if wee set up camp in an area frequented by bears. But what greeted me was something even more disturbing - an aborted animal fetus.

Before you ask, no, I did not take a picture of it. I just couldn't make myself. For the rest of the trip though, Bonnie and I referred to this little spot as the aborted fetus campsite. Nothing bothered us that night as we laid in the tent reading, and at least for me, it was a restful slumber. Sadly Bonnie was on a slope and kept sliding into the wall of the tent. The next morning, I lounged out by the creek while Bonnie caught up on a little more sleep. But soon it was time to pack up and head back home.

It's amazing how hiking out is generally easier and quicker than hiking in. We were out in almost no time. We didn't make it to our destination, but Bonnie had a good taste of backpacking and is starting to plan her own excursions into the woods.

Best Laid Plans

Hurricane Ridge 6/17/07 4.5 miles

I had been trying to get my friend T.K. to go hiking with me for two years, and for two years he has found one reason or another not to go. Granted, most of his excuses have been legitimate - working on his house to make sure he had a roof over his head or walls to hold up the roof. But it's been a long haul and unrelenting patience. What finally got him out? Her name is Nancy and she has the strength to pull him out of the house to experience some of the grandeur the NW has to offer.

I had planned a hike along Klahhane Ridge up to Mt Angeles - a good 8 mile hike through meadows of wildflowers and patches of snow. However, the patches of snow were a bit more than anticipated. We were stopped far short of our goal when we came across a steep slope filled with snow. I was rather apprehensive about heading down the hill so steep that we decided to turn around and try another trail.

Why not the trail up to Hurricane Hill? Again we would be hiking through wildflower meadows and hiking up to a viewpoint over looking the Elwha Valley and the Bailey Range. There was still a bit of snow on the trail but the lupines were starting to bloom as was the phlox and indian paintbrush. The marmots were out in search of edible blooms to nibble on; the deer were grazing in the meadows, napping in the trees. We even got to see a couple of bear across the valley.

One last word. As we stood atop Hurricane Hill, T.K. looked out over the valleys and mountains and wondered why he had never been before - it was only an hour from his house. If he had been any closer to the edge, I would have pushed.

Cleaning Up

Earth Day, April 21, 2007

Every year for Earth Day, I head out to the Washington Coast to help clean up the beaches. It's an event organized by lovers of the Washington Coast since 2000. I've taken part in the endeavor for 5 years now. I first went out by myself but gradually friends and family joined me (even a friend from Oklahoma joined us one year) and we've made it our "first" camping trip and good deed of the year. We've found that cleaning up the winter debris is a way for us to get a fresh start on our year.

I was joined this year by Michael & my sister as we once again picked our way through the beaches at Kalaloch in the Olympic National Park. However, there isn't a stretch of waterfront during this weekend that by now doesn't have a cleaning crew scouring over the drift logs and rocks. We spent a drizzly morning picking up rope, plastic, shoes, and bottles - we even found an industrial crab pot to drag off the beach (those things are damn heavy). In the afternoon we joined other volunteers for a BBQ at the campground. By now the drizzle had become more serious and it didn't take us too long to decide that heading home would be much warmer and drier.

You could be asking why it took so long to write this entry. I wanted to wait for the weekend's stats from the organizers. And here they are: 806 registered volunteers pulled 23 tons of debris off the Washington beaches. Among the debris were 14 crab pots and 2 refrigerators as well as tires, nets, buoys and 55 gallon drums. That's a lot of garbage, not easy to haul off the beaches. The volunteers, all of them - even the unregistered ones - deserve a standing ovation for their hard work.

It's a never ending job, cleaning Washington's beaches. Every year storms deposit more trash. Every weekend tourists leave something behind. I will be there next year. Will you join me?

New Year's Eve

1/1/07 Olympic Coast

I can think of no better way to ring in a new year than snuggled in my tent beneath snow-covered mountains or tall stately trees. This year we welcomed 2007 by sleeping on a bluff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. But first we made a little tour around the north end of the Olympic Peninsula.

We packed up the puppies Saturday and drove to Sequim, hoping to camp at the Dungeness Spit. Sadly, the campground is closed during the winter and we had to figure out our next plan as night was fast approaching. Kudos to the Washington State Park system as we can usually find a campground open - our Saturday night was spent overlooking Sequim Bay. We were beginning to regret our decision as most people crazy enough to camp in the dead of winter are at least intelligent enough to do it in campers, with generators. After 5 days of listening to our neighbor's generator during the last power outage, I was not thrilled about listening to our temporary neighbor's power source. By 10, though, the campground was silent except for the occasional wave lapping up against the rocks. Thank you temporary camping neighbor.

We awoke early the next morning to catch the possible sunrise on Hurricane Ridge. The road to the ridge is closed until dawn, but we were there waiting when the rangers opened the gate and we weere able to watch the sun make it's way across the sky, through the infrequent breaks in the clouds. The wind, blowing harsh and cold convinced us that a few hours on the ridge snowshoeing wouldn't be the best way to spend the morning. So we let the puppies play in the snow a bit and went on our way to Kalaloch.

It rained on and off on our drive out to the beach and sprinkled lightly on us as we set up camp. But dried up a bit as we walked along the beach watching the clam-diggers, many coming up the beach empty-handed. The rain came back as wee settled into our tent, the puppies curled up on our feet. A few of our neighbors whooped it up at midnight, but Michael & I just wished each other a happy new year then nestled back into our sleeping bags.

Happy New Year!

Quinault River

6/10/06 - 12 miles

We were training for our epic hike in a month - a hike that had thwarted us twice before. This time we weren't taking any chances. Our longest hike for our trip would be ten miles of climbing in & out of steep ravines. So, we figured if we could hike up one of the river trails in the Olympic Park for six miles. That way, we would get a long mileage day under our belts before we had to really exert ourselves. We chose for the trip a trail neither of us had really explored - the Quinault River trail.

This trail extends into Enchanted Valley, but we weren't going to be able to make it that far. Six miles upriver and a turnaround would be a long enough day. Enchanted Valley would have to wait until later. Our day was covered with clouds but in this rainforest, the light shines through even the heaviest of moss covered trees. And as with rainforests, the recent rains that threatened to return all through the day, had soaked the trail to mud.

Now, I just want to say quickly that when you're hiking in the northwest - especially in a rainforest, hikers should expect to walk in mud. What is the excuse to walking around muddy spots on the trail only to create larger muddy spots and also destroying the plant life on the side of the trail? This is the reason we have hiking boots and gaiters people! Basically, what I am saying is that there is no reason to walk around mud in the trail - in the northwest we should expect it.

Now that I'm off that soapbox, the evidence of spring along the trail was everywhere wee looked. The vivid greens of the trees to the flowers on the forest floor we soaked up the vitality into our steps. Our way up the valley was slowed as we kept looking at the wonderfully large trees stretching into the sky and clinging to each limb; moss, mushrooms, and an assortment of other plants. As Michael oohed and aahed over the moss, we came across one large specimen of a tree that took our breathe away.

We finally stopped at a nice place near the river for lunch and rested under the trees. Both of us remarked that these huge trees are also subject to the ravages of the mother nature. Many trees, upwards to 5 feet in diameter, had been blown down over the river, their roots undermined by the raging river. Here these mighty trees were also vulnerable, subject to processes that weather brings.

We finally had had enough of rest and contemplation and went on our way. And just to test ourselves, we sped through the forest as fast as we could leaving in half the time it took us to go in.

Hoh River

10/20/06-10/22/06

Drip-ploink, drip-ploink, drip-ploink. Last weekend I had driven to the Hoh Rainforest for a bit of reconnasance for a mountaineer's photo trip the following weekend. I was looking for fall color and maybe a few elk. By the time I had arrived, a steady rain had been falling for several days and the moss was swollen with the rain. The air around me hushed and silent except for the dripping of raindrops from leaf to leaf the saturated ground. As I was only there to check on the progress of the fall colors, I was soon heading back to my car. But something pulled me back to the shelter of the visitor center's overhanging eaves. It was the quiet and stillness of the place. The same quiet I had relished as a child and relied on in my adult years. This was a special place to me, almost sacred - a place I believe God comes to pray. And here I had to leave, not wanting to, not feeling as restored as I knew I could be - but I would be back in a week.

The following weekend wasn't wet at all but sunny and autumn bright. The light streamed through the same leaves that the week before filtered the rain. Leaves that seemed dull before were brilliant overhead creating a sun-like glow een in the most shaded areas. I meandered along the nature trails (Hall of Mosses & Spruce Trail) and ventured a bit up the Hoh River trail. Sat on a sandbar along the Hoh where I could see the mountains up the valley but not Mt Olympus. I took photos of all sorts of mushrooms and turning foliage and on Sunday morning a few elk cows ventured near the campground. The mountaineers group I led all seemed to enjoy themselves during a weekend of nature, photography, and campfires.

There is a different feeling to the Hoh when the sun comes out. There is still a comfort like sitting on my mother's lap, but not the enveloping comfort as when she wrapped me in her arms. I'm not sure if it felt different mainly from the weather or from the fact that this time I wasn't alone. Usually I am at the Hoh by myself in times of need, when I need a quick hug from my mother. Here I was in the Hoh with people, most of whom I hadn't met until a few nights ago - all wonderful people, but just not the same. But of course, this is the rainforest and what's a rainforest without rain? The silent solitude found when rain splashes from the leaves isn't there when the sun splashes instead.

But as I sat in the glow of the campfire, watching the stars above and listening to the river alongside the campsite, my accostomed calm came across me and I smiled a deep smile. My mother's arms had enfolded me.

Elwha Valley

5/30/06 7 miles

Memorial Day weekend. I had planned three days of camping and hiking in the Olympics, however weather seemed to interfere with most of those plans. We got to camp in Heart-of-the-Hills campground which I hadn't slept in since I was a young child dreaming of a life in the mountains. That experience brought back a flood of memories, mostly warm and cozy in a very damp forest. And we did get to hike a bit on Saturday, probably the best day that we had. As the snow was still hanging on in the upper regions and had hindered our planned hike, we opted for one of the river hikes - namely the Elwha.

I had been on this trail a year earlier with another friend, but because of limited time we only hiked the Geyser Valley loop. An enjoyable hike, but since we were also training for our trip along the wonderland later in the summer, I was hoping for more distance. Our plan was to go up the river as far as we could, turning back when weather or fatigue forced us.

Spring growth covered the forest floor; fresh new green of ferns, vanilla leaf, vine maples and berries. We walked through this vibrant green world when we heard the first of the distinctive sound that gave Geyser Valley it's name - grouse call. In the near past during the early explorations of the Olympic Peninsula, explorers and trappers heard the distinctive whoop, whoop, whoop of grouse, combined with the swirling mists from the river chasms led these adventurous men to mistakenly believe that geysers lay in the valley. And while we walked through these hushed woods we were accompanied by grouse.

We soon came across Michael's cabin, built by an early settler who made his way in the woods serving the locals by hunting cougars and later became a respite for travellers through the Olympics. A little further up the valley we detoured to see Humes Ranch, another early settler. A deer quietly grazed in the meadow in front of the cabin - I spotted her but a young family on the trail missed her until Michael pointed her out for them. The deer continued to graze oblivious to her observers. By this time the sun had come out to warm up the valley, sunlight glinting of the moist vegetation, and we were faced with a decision. We could continue along the Geyser Valley loop, head back to the main trail an follow it up as far as we wanted along the Elwha, or take a branch over across the river and towards Dodger Point. We had been warned by the rangers that the upper elevations of Dodger Point were still snow-covered, but we decided to head that way anyway and turn back when we needed to.

The rivers in the Olympics can be extremely temperamental and the Elwha is no exception. We crossed areas of landslides where the river had eroded the hillside below and took the rest of the hillside with it leaving behind soft loose earth that gives uncertainty to your footsteps. We reached the bridge across the river at the base of the Grand Canyon of the Elwha and sat for lunch on the other side. The only other living thing we saw during lunch was a spider weaving a web between the leaves of a huckleberry bush.

The trail to Dodger Point had not yet been cleaned up from the winter blow-downs and we needed to cross several trees stretched across the our path. But we weren't in a hurry and weren't concerned with time lost. At some point we decided it was time to head back home and retraced our steps back to the trailhead. As the afternoon slipped by clouds came back in to cover the valley and we were greeted by falling mist as we returned to camp.

Obstruction Pt - Deer Park

9/24/06 - 7.6 miles

Good things do come to those who wait. I have been wanting to hike this trail for a little over two years now - more than any other in Olympic Park. The descriptions are so enticing, talking about views that last forever above treeline closer to the clouds than one could imagine.

This 7.6 mile trail is usually done as a thru-hike starting at one trail head and ending at the other, so having two cars is necessary unless you want to do the complete 15 mile round trip. We had attempted the trail last year in late June with my sister but were thwarted by mud & snow on the Obstruction Point road so opted instead for the High Ridge trail and the abundance of wildflowers there. When June/July rolled around again this year, I couldn't find anyone with an available day and an extra car to hike it with us so we only hiked out to Elk Mountain then back through Badger Meadows - a fabulous hike in its own right. However, that day was cloudy and we only were given hints of the beautiful views that lay beyond.

After Michael & I bought up our second car, we had a good excuse to try it ourselves. We left home early and drove around to park one car at Deer Park then headed back out and around for Obstruction Point. Michael later figured that the driving between both trail heads for the day would be well over 100 miles - not to mention the drive from Auburn & back. We didn't even start hiking until noon. (We did stop on the way to eat breakfast and pick up lunch.)

The flowers that had decorated our trail only two months before were now dried and colorless. But we were not saddened by their demise. I wonder if we would have noticed them if they had been in bloom. The mountains that rose to the south of us drew our attention away from what lay at our feet. Sitting stately in the center with its crown-like peaks was Mt Olympus reigning over the other but no less stately mountains of the Olympics. We steadily climbed up the hillside, each step revealing more of the mountains and enticed us with what was over that ridge to our north. It wasn't too long before we were able to look upon the splendor to the north. Mt Baker rose from the mists on the other side of Puget Sound, but it was not Puget Sound we were looking down upon.

We saw at our feet the peninsula cities of Sequim and Port Angeles and their distinctive sand bars. Beyond was the Strait of Juan de Fuca with Victoria and Vancouver Island just beyond. Lunch was eaten at the top of Elk Mountain, looking upon the same view with the inside passage sparkling just beyond Vancouver Island and the snowy peaks of the BC cascades beckoning us to explore. Off to the east, the trail wound its way around another hill before descending back into the trees. After lunch, we descended sharply, continuing our way to Deer Park. Several years ago I would have turned back at this part of the trail - the descent was narrow and worked its way across a shale slope. But I confidently set my feet and poles and slowly worked my way down. I was a bit saddened when we lost our northern view, but our southern view was still spectacular - revealing hidden gems in the valleys as they reached up to the rocky faces above. It was about this point when we came across the swarms of gnats - so thick they became a black cloud blocking my vision.

I began to notice after we made it to treeline that spring must be wonderful down here. There were remnants of heathers, lupine & lilies speckling the forest floor. The floor must be covered in either avalanche lilies or glacier lilies during the spring. (Mental note to self - get back & do this during the flowering months.) The descent through the trees was farther than either of us expected and we were not looking forward to what must be a steep climb back up to Deer Park. Boy were we fooled. The trail here follows an old roadbed and the climb out was as gradual as the climb in and in no time we were back on the road to pick up our other car. We waited for sunset near Obstruction Point and made our way home again.