Reflections on the Eagle Creek Fire

This was originally written while camping in the gorge this past May.

With a spark smelling of sulfur, the fuse caught fire quickly sizzling closer to explosion. A soft lob an the firecracker turned end over end through the air - arcing slowly down the hillside landing in brown grass dried by the summer’s heat; followed by a cracking pop. Laughter filtered down from above. Another sulfur spark, another lob, another cracking pop in brown grass. The laughter fades into the distance as a tendril of smoke snaked upward from the grass.

By day’s end, the trail above was closed and a long night awaited 150 day hikers trapped by the growing flame. Forty-eight hours later the Eagle Creek fire engulfed the canyon and joined the Indian Creek fire already burning threatening homes and businesses, popular recreation areas, and historic structures. It took nearly 3 months to fully contain and, in that time, jumped the Columbia River to burn acreage in Washington. In the end, 50,000 acres burned, 8 trails were severely damaged, 1 woman lost her home, and the historic highway is closed until further notice.

It was a gut punch the first time I saw the barren cliffs and blackened trees as I drove along I-84. Where I expected to see green & yellow lichens decorating the basalt walls, the was only grey. Blackened skeletal remains of vine maple haunted the forest floor. The young man who threw the firecrackers to entertain his friends, the firecrackers that started the fire had been ordered earlier in the week to pay 36.6 million in restitution as well as 1920 hours of community service and to write letters of apology to everyone immediately affected by his actions – including the woman who lost her home.

Would the citizenry ever see payment for the destruction of a beloved wilderness are? Time will tell and it’s not a question I want to ponder right now. The damage is done and no amount of desire for vengeance will repair the damage. I am here to camp and share time with friends – something I have done for the past 9 years since leaving my husband. It has become an annual pilgrimage of renewal, to breathe in the forest air and listen to the sounds of crashing water falling from high cliffs.

It was here in the little park named Ainsworth where I spoke long into the night with a man and his sons and remembered that life was still an option. It was here where I stood high above the river that I realized beauty will always find a way into my vision. It was here when I began my walk into my future.

Memories were created here, memorialized on camera. There were nights sleeping under the stars & mornings sitting in flowered meadows watching the sun rise. Birthdays and friendships celebrated with burgers, beer and ice cream. All my memories twirled in my head as I drove the highway to my weekend campsite in Ainsworth, including that long talk into the night.

The physical pain I felt as the blackened trees and barren ground passed by my car windows grew until I pulled into Ainsworth State Park. The little park of my hope remained flush with green. Just beyond its borders crept the specter of fire but within the park ferns unfurled, flowers bloomed, and trees flourished. I could look out my tent door to see the hope of possibility that this treasured land would choose life.

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.

Then there's Plan B

Plan A:

It's my sister's birthday and we decide to gather our gear and hoof it out Eagle Creek in the Columbia Gorge. Check another trail off Kristi's bucket list, sleep under the Pacific Northwest sky, and shake out the cobwebs.

Eagle Creek is the most traveled trail in the Columbia Gorge - for good reason. While you will not have summit views, you will hike through a river canyon with moss covered walls, towering big leaf maples, fern-lined trails and 5 named waterfalls (and dozens of smaller unnamed falls). Most who hike the trail go in about 2 miles to see Punchbowl Falls. Others continue on to travel through Tunnel Falls - the trail is high on a cliff and they drilled a tunnel behind the falls to hike through. Stunning but not for those who have a fear of heights.

Even though it's highly traveled, it is so very worth experiencing. So it is on my sister's bucket list.

We invited our friend Evie, who will be joining us on our John Muir trip. Evie brought along her husband. I brought along Zillah.

The day wasn't shaping up to be perfect like the weather reports read, but we had faith the rain wouldn't start falling until we set up camp. We weren't 2 miles in when we needed to get our rain gear out and I looked at Zillah, already soggy and thought sharing a tent with her would not be good for either of us. After a quick consensus, we turned tail and hoofed it back to the car.

Plan B:

A waterfall tour of the gorge with short little hikes.

Our first stop was to Starvation Creek Falls for lunch. Perfect! The rain hadn't yet reached the area so we enjoyed the sun glistening through the new green foliage overhead. The new leaves sparkled in the sun. We left there just as the rain hit us and traveled back to Horsetail Falls. Then on to Multnomah Falls where we walked up to the overly crowded bridge and then bought Kristi a birthday ice cream.

Next stop Bridal Veil Falls where we stopped to photograph the wildflowers along the way. The sun began to peak out again, but we weren't too upset about that - we were having fun. The hike around the lower loop of Latourell Falls had us all giddy. We each saw something exciting to photograph and investigate. On up to Vista House to see the view, we noticed the clouds looked awful dark back the way we had come. Our last stop on Plan B was the Portland Women's Forum at Chanticleer Point for one more view. Just as we got there, the sun peaked through the clouds to light up Vista House. We congratulated not on the pretty picture though - we congratulated ourselves on calling it quits and avoiding the dark band of rain clouds on the horizon.

Do you know the story of me?

Hi my name is Heidi. Do you know my story? Not MY story but the story of a little girl living with her grandpa in the Swiss Alps who moves to the city to live with her aunt, uncle and her cousin Clara? It's a story I know all too well. When I was 7, I was given at 3 different holidays, the book entitled Heidi. How many of the same book does one child need?

As a refresher, Heidi lived with her grandpa in the mountains and spent her days playing in the meadows with her friend Peter and his herd of goats. Her aunt and uncle come to take her to the city where she can go to school and befriend her cousin Clara, a child suffering from illness so that she could not walk. In the city, Heidi becomes depressed so her aunt and uncle send her to visit her grandfather and Peter and allow Clara to go with her. While they are visiting, and avalanche closes the way and they are stranded in the mountains for months. When Clara's parents finally reach the cabin, fearing the worse after months without Drs and medicine they find that Clara is happy, healthy and walking. The power of nature on a person is nurturing and healing.

I may have been named Heidi but I am more like Clara. I was a sick child always dealing with stomach issues of nausea and cramping. Colds that turned quickly into bronchitis. And parents who started to believe the doctors when they couldn't figure out what was wrong with me so referred to me as lazy (I was faking ill to get out of school & chores), attention seeking, or hypochondriac.

They couldn't find anything wrong with me because they had no idea at the time where to look. Years later, I was diagnosed with a rare hereditary liver disease. Soon followed by a diagnosis of Celiac and other food sensitivities which contributed to the stomach problems. Then this past year on a deep blood test where they were looking for anything and everything (I was dizzy and weak while hiking which turned out to be anemia) they found I am missing a blood protein, an immunoglobulin that protects the mucus layer in your sinuses and lungs (hello, bronchitis).

I don't tell this story for you to feel sorry for me or indignant. But to share with you while I always felt like Clara in the story, I really was Heidi. With all my illnesses, the only place I felt healthy was hiking through the forests and along a wildflower-filled alpine meadow. I could forget about my health while in the mountains. Heidi in the story persuaded Clara to come to the mountains and she was healed. I persuade myself to camp and hike and I too am healed.

When I was 7, I hated being named Heidi. Now I know I am Heidi and Clara and whole.

The Scent of Green

Green has a scent.

Green smells like spring in a Pacific Northwest forest.

As the ferns unfurl their fronds reaching out for new life, you can smell it.

As the Salmonberry and Thimbleberry leaf out and blossom preparing for their juicy summer fruits, you can smell it.

As the undergrowth replenishes through warmer air and moist days putting forth sparkling gems of wildflowers, you can smell.

As the moss drips with rain water from the sturdy boughs of the trees surrounding you, you can smell it.

As the Big Leaf Maples and the tentacles Vine Maples spread their palmated leaves to collect the sun and rejuvenate their roots, you can smell it.

As streams rattle and crash over rocks and through banks of glorious and vibrant greens, you can smell it.

As you walk through a Pacific Northwest forest in the spring, you can smell it.

You can smell green.

Have you smelled it?

Hiking the Upper Dungeness River

Beautiful partly sunny February days don't happen very often here in the Northwest. But when they do, you better know that folks will line up to hike the low land snow-free trails - unless the trail is a 3 hour drive from the Seattle.

Welcome to the Upper Dungeness - or any trail on the north end of the Olympic Peninsula. A magical place where the crowds just don't go, at least not early in the season. By the time we parked and got our boots on, we saw no other cars in the parking lot.

The Olympic Peninsula is a magical place for me. This is where I first learned about the wonders of the natural world. It's also where I learned about hiking and backpacking. Even old familiar trails are new and wondrous for me with each passing season.

So when I have the chance to share my favorite places with others I leap at the chance. I get to spend the day in the wilderness with friends as they explore nature and themselves. What could be better than stopping by a river and having a snack in camaraderie of fellow travelers?

And when you're hiking through the shadow of ancient trees on a chill February morning, stop to feel the sun on your face for a brief moment and become spellbound.

A June Lake Snowshoe

Barely 2 miles from the trail head, I had to ask.

"Did you check the trail reports?"

The reason I asked was that we were almost to the snow park and there was no snow.

"The last report was from 2 weeks ago and the gal complained about all the snowmobiles out on the road."

That was another sign we might be in trouble - I had yet to see a truck hauling snowmobiles. Our snowshoe might just turn into a hike.

We pulled into the parking lot to find that yes there was snow, but it was crappy snow. It hadn't snowed for several days so there were bare spots in the trees and tree debris on top of what snow there was.

It wasn't an auspicious start to our adventure, but we'd make the most of it. We always do.

The "we" here was me, my Sissy, a friend of ours, and an intern at Sissy's company. The intern wanted to get out and about as much as possible before he headed home to New York. What better way to see the state than a snowshoe through the wilderness on the backside of our volcano.

Clouds hung low through most of the day so we weren't able to see the crater rim. But anything could happen, right? We set off down the snow covered road avoiding the few snowmobiles enjoying each others' company and sharing stories.

About a mile along the road, is the turn off to the lake. Snowmobiles aren't allowed on the trail and since there weren't that many, we didn't leave any hectic traffic jams behind.

Heading up through the woods, I realized I am in far worse shape than I imagined myself to be. This should be an easy jaunt yet here I was dragging behind and huffing and puffing. I have a lot of work to do to get into shape for climbing Mt St Helens.

It didn't take long for the rain to start and I have to say it - I hate snowshoeing in the rain. It's miserable. I'd rather have blowing snow than rain. Ugh. We soldiered on and in no time we were at the lake. A pretty sort of a lake especially in the snow with snags and a waterfall on the far side. In the summer, this place serves well as a starting point for the Loowit trail - the 30+ mile hike around the volcano. In the snow it's an enchanted land of snow queens and fairies. At least in my fantasy.

We shared a big tree near the edge of the lake that served well to shelter us from the rain and ate our lunch before heading back to the car in the rain.

It may be a long drive, but I do enjoy snowshoeing to June Lake. I just wish the rain could have waited a little longer.

Cooper

I've always been a bit of a sucker for big brown puppy-dog eyes. My dad was a dog person so we always had dogs around. My first real friend was Lady, a German Shepherd with a taste for rubber squeaky mice. Oh how she loved to gnaw on them until the squeak was gone. She was my playmate, confidant and protector.

As a child, I would have most likely identified with being a cat person. I couldn't wait until we moved to the farm to get a cat (or several - it was a farm, you need lots of barn cats, right?) But dogs were always present.

Now I would consider myself an animal person. I would have a menagerie if I could. In the meantime, I will love on the critters I meet.

That is how I got to go for a walk with my friend's Golden Retriever Cooper. I had gone to Cle Elum for a business meeting, staying in Michelle's vacation home at the Suncadia Resort. Cooper was there too, keeping his favorite human company.

While she worked on a few things before our meeting, I decided to go for a walk to stretch my legs after my drive. I coaxed Cooper to come with me. A little reluctant at first, he soon became enthusiastic for the adventure. He trotted off ahead of me on the trail, a very large doggy smile on his face.

The Bobcat

I had my choice of shaded spots to park my car so I chose a shadier one. But I feared as the morning lengthened, the shadows would shorten leaving my car and my after hike snack to bake in the sun. I nudged the car as close to the barrier as I dared. The day was already warm so I stripped off my legs of my pants and left the coat in the car adjusted my ball cap and left the parking lot.

A couple of days before while hiking the Point Tomales Trail, I chatted with a woman who had espoused the beauties of the trail out to Arch Rock. It was like walking through Middle Earth, she said. So green, so lush that she expected elves to walk out of the woods and greet her. Sounded marvelous and even though I had planned to hike the trail, I grew more excited to make the journey.

The trail at one point had been a road but had since been decommissioned. For most of the trip, the Beaver Valley trail is wide with a gradual incline to Divide Meadow and slowly descends down to the junction with the Arch Rock Trail.

It was at Divide Meadow where I saw it.

As I started my way down, I spied an odd shape next to the trail. It's shape similar to a sitting cat. Knowing Point Reyes has feral cats, I began a one-sided conversation with what I believed to be a cat.

It turned it's head towards me as I asked "Are yo a good kitty or are you a bad kitty?" Spying the tufts of hair on the tips of it's ears and a on its cheeks, I knew it was more than a mere cat. I was staring at a bobcat. My heart leapt.

I continued to talk to the beautiful feline as I slowly approached, crossing to the other side of the wide trail. Finally, it stood up and trotted into the tall grasses of the meadow showing me its short tail and large feet.

My head was spinning. A bobcat! I had seen a bobcat! And never took out my camera.

The rest of the trail was just as my previous acquaintance had described - lush greens that reminded me of home - to a cliff overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I easily sat on the overlook, my only company a bold sea gull who came to investigate me. I thought how lucky I was to have seen such a beautiful animal.

My way back seemed so uneventful. I got back to my car and thought I should report the sighting to the park. The ranger I spoke to was just as excited as I was about the incident.

Every now and then, something happens on the trail that makes me remember why I love being in the wilderness.

Washington State Parks: Field's Spring

Sometimes it pays to talk to the park rangers, volunteers and other employees of the state parks.
On my recent trip to Field's Spring, a park I had never visited before but will be visiting again, I was meandering around the parking lot and the trails between one of the lodges and the campground. The park is know for being a wildflower heaven during the months of May and June, so I was looking at all of the forest wildflowers popping up and was completely thrilled to be able to photograph both the male and female flowers of the meadowrue.

Before I had decided to stay close to camp (I was rather tired after the drive from Seattle to south of Clarkston), I had the opportunity to chat with Mike & Kathy the campground hosts. A very kind couple who enthusiastically showed me the wildflowers pictures they had taken on their hike up Puffer Butte, the high point of the park with views into Oregon and Idaho.  They found lupine, lomatium, calypso orchids, phlox, paintbrush and several other flowers on the trail and in the meadow at the top. Feeling the exhaustion set in, I decided to stick around camp and head up the hill for sunrise and morning golden hour photography.

So there I was, meandering around the campground and lodges when a beat up red sedan pulled up next to me with an older gentleman driving, his passenger was a big German Shepard standing in the passenger seat nose to the windshield and tongue hanging out. "You looking for birds?" he asked leaning his head out the window. One look at the car and the monster of a dog next to him, I knew he was someone with something to say. "No, not really. I'm looking for wildflowers - they're easier to spot."

"Oh. You want wildflowers. Well, have you been out the corral trail yet?"

"No. Where is that."

"You'll want to follow the dirt road here past the lodge to the gate. Go through the gate onto the trail. Take the Morning Song Trail and at the end of that trail there's a smaller trail that follows the ridge. You can go out there. You can go anywhere - it all belongs to the park, so it's ok. But that's where you'll find all the wildflowers you want. I know - I used to work here."

"Oh, thank you. This road here?"

"Yep. you can drive out to the gate too - there's a parking lot there."

"Thanks."

I watched as he drove off with his dog balancing in the front seat. I looked at the road he pointed out and decided that I needed to explore every corner since that is why I was there. His advice did not disappoint.

Just off the Corral Trail was the Morning Song Trail. A short walk brought me to sweeping views of the Blue Mountains and at my feet - flowers. Lupine, Balsamroot, Scarlett Gilia, Indian Paintbrush in so many colors I lost count and flowers I had never before seen.

I followed Morning Song to it's end but it hooked back into the Corral Trail. There was no trail along the ridge. I thought to retrace my steps, but instead continued along the Corral Trail to its end. I did find the trail along the ridge but will tell you about it in the book in a feature named Insider's Tips. These will be hints and tips from the people who know the park from the inside out.

Oh, and at the end of the Corral Trail is an old broken down corral and more views including a view of Puffer Butte.

To Get There: It's a short 29 miles from Clarkston, WA. Follow Highway 129 south to Asotin. In Asotin, Highway 129 turns right to head up into the plateau. Turn right to continue on Highway 129. The park is on your left 22 miles from Asotin.

Washington State Park: Wallace Falls

Growing up in Monroe, I spent a bit of time at our local state park Wallace Falls. It was the local park and a fun hike on the weekend, even in the winter. When higher elevations were snowed in, Wallace Falls was there for us, like an old friend. It has been a fall-back hike years when snow lingered in the mountains longer than desired. And it's been a perfect late season hike. It was also one of the hikes I went on with my big 4x5 view camera when I was taking classes on exposure in college.

I understood, after that hike, why William Henry Jackson had donkeys.

The park hasn't changed a lot and yet it has changed so much. Rental cabins have been added to add more space for anyone wanting to sleep close to the Wallace River. Plus a few more trails have been added leading hikers to Wallace Lake and Jay Lake. Backpackers can now sleep overnight near Wallace Lake with a permit from the park.

But the true draw here is the falls. Wallace Falls is three falls along the river, creatively named upper, middle & lower falls. Each spectacular on their own, but all together quite amazing. Middle falls can be seen from highway 2. Each falls has its own viewing area plus there are viewpoints along the trail that look out over the Skykomish valley.

Don't be in too much of a hurry to get the the main attraction. The Wallace River is beautiful as it tumbles over river rocks below low hanging limbs of the thick forest. Take the small side trail to Small Falls, an appetizer for the main attraction. You'll see these if you hike the Woody Trail which I advise either on the way to or from - you will not want to miss them. The Railroad Grade is an easier climb but longer. The walk here can be cool in the summer heat with the overhanging maples and alders that turn yellow in the fall.

Small details of the forest can be found on either trail (and you can make a loop out of your hike with a short connector trail - the connector trail also gets you to the Greg Ball Trail which leads to Wallace Lake). Small streams, ferns, flowers, and mushrooms help bring life to the forest. Bring your macro lens for some of the details.

This is a park where you'll want to bring your long lens, your short lens and your macro lens. You'll find an opportunity to use them all.

To get there, drive Highway 2 to the town of Gold Bar. Westbound, turn right on 1st Ave, Eastbound turn left. Turn right onto May Creek Rd and follow for about 3/4 of a mile. Turn left on Wallace Lake Rd, and arrive at the park.

Autumn, Tis the Season . . .

To look down.

Fresh crisp air with vibrant blue skies and colorful leaves all around. It's very hard to take your eyes off such beauty - you almost get to feeling like a kid again wanting to run through piles of leaves as they float to the ground.

We walk the trails and pathways looking up at the colors in the trees, maybe with a few sun rays streaking through the lingering morning mists. We almost forget to look down unless we stumble.

But the beauty above our heads only tell half the story of this special season.

Go ahead, look down. What do you see?

Ok, if you're at home you're probably looking at your feet and carpet, maybe some toys, power cords and dirty laundry. But get up, step outside. Now what do you see?

Look and you will see colors, shapes and textures - all the things we look for as photographers. You'll see small forests of mushrooms. There's a varied palette of of color in the fallen leaves. And of course leaves of all shapes and sizes.

It's the season to bend over, kneel down or just lie on your belly to capture the world at your feet.

So grab your macro lens - actually any lens will do and go play at your feet.

Transitions

It's still summer here in the Pacific Northwest. The days are filled with sun and warmth - the thought of grey days still far from our minds. We're out hiking, camping, boating and generally enjoying the season. The leaves are still green. The flowers are still blooming. And there's a sense that it will never end.

But sadly, summer has to end.

It always does.

The evidence is out there if you know where to look for it.

The transition starts high where the summer season is shortest. 

At 5400 feet, summer is short lived at Cascade Pass in the North Cascades National Park Complex. Just a couple of months ago there was snow on the alpine meadows here. And now, during the Labor Day weekend the Gentian is blooming - the flower that herald's the coming of fall.

And yet, as the wildflowers die off or go to seed the color has not left the meadows.

The leaves of the False Hellebore have started to yellow, a tarnished gold on the tips yellowing to green. An eye-catching color as you hike past. It's enough to draw your eye away from the alpine scenery, look down and marvel at nature's beauty.

Shifting seasonal color can also be found lower in the forest below the pass. Lady ferns turning brown against the still green leaves of devil's club and starry false solomon's seal whisper the transition from summer to fall.

All too soon the meadows will be filled with the reddened blueberry bushes with the 1st kiss of frost on their leaves. I love this transitional period and savor the colors of nature as they turn from flowers and greenery to the warm burnished colors of fall.

I encourage you too to go out and play in nature as it welcomes fall.

Heidi's Hotspots: Mt Rainier National Park: Summerland

I think Summerland will always hold a special place in my heart. When I first ventured off on hiking the Wonderland Trail, the 93 mile trail encircling Mt Rainier, I started at Summerland. My first solo backpack was to Summerland. Need a good hike on the east side of the mountain? Go to Summerland.

Summerland is a smallish meadow on the flanks of Mt Rainier. If you think of the meadows at Paradise or Spray Park, you might scoff at this little meadow. And for many day-hikers and climbers, Summerland is a only short respite on the way to bigger and more grand views. The 8 mile round trip can make this a respectable day hike and a destination of its own, so don't let it's size deter you from venturing here.

Come in the early morning if you can for better light. From the meadow, you will be looking west at the mountain and light can get fairly harsh later in the day. Or wait until the afternoon when the meadows are in shade for a softer light on the flowers. Better yet, try to snag a campsite and watch the mountain glow in the sunrise light. This is a popular hiking and camping destination so an early reservation may be in order for camping.

The meadow may be small, but the views packs a pretty nice punch. The trail follows Fryingpan Creek from the White River Road. After you cross the creek (about 3 miles in), you will travel through what I call the lower meadows - beautiful flowers all around and all the time in front of you, the glaciated flanks of Mt Rainier. Then some quick switchbacks through the woods and you will find your switchbacks lined with the flowers I call the middle meadows. These lead you into the meadows of Summerland.

Look out for marmots, bear and mountain goats while you're here. The marmots are not phased by the hikers and will often be seen nibbling the flowers at the side of the trail. Travel a little further along the trail past camp and across the stream, you will find a wilderness flower lined staircase built of mud, logs and stones that looks as if it were transplanted straight from Middle Earth.

If you love photographing wildflowers with critters in front of mountains, then Summerland is a place for you to discover and fall in love with on your own.

Heidi's Hotspots: Columbia River Gorge: Cape Horn Trail

When people think of The Gorge they think of two places - the amphitheater near George, Washington or the waterfalls along the Oregon side of the Columbia River. Ask a photographer about the Columbia River gorge they'll think of the latter, with wildflowers and expansive views. Hardly anyone thinks about the photographic or adventure potential of the other side - the Washington side.

But there are lots. Where Oregon shows off her stunning beauty at every possibility, Washington is just a bit more demure. You really have to look at her to appreciate the beauty she has to offer. The nooks and crannies, the hidden paths.

I do love the Oregon side of the gorge, and who wouldn't with her dramatic waterfalls and expansive flower-filled views. I could spend days photographing there. But I have also been able to spend days photographing the Washington side too.

One of my favorite places to hike and photograph is the Cape Horn Trail just east of Washougal, WA. Managed by the Cape Horn Conservancy, this trail meanders through forests to panoramic views of the Columbia River. Starting off from the trailhead along State Route 14, hike through forests alive with color. Forest wildflowers bloom in abundance here in the spring, but in early to mid May, the rich blues of Delphinium create a stark contrast against the light yellow greens of alder groves and ferns.

Along the way you'll catch views of the river and gorge and it's hard not to be distracted by the views. But keep your eye out for the flowers along the trail.

The loop trail is closed for Falcon nesting from January to July, but the 7 mile round trip hike from the parking lot to the Nancy Russell Overlook will fill your memory card with color, texture and patterns.

For more information contact the Cape Horn Conservancy.

D'Oh!

We all make mistakes. And in the last couple of weeks I have been well aware that I am included in the "all" of that statement.

I know, I know. Seems impossible doesn't it that I might make a mistake . . . or two . . . or more. but I do.

In a recent post, I described my stay at the Alvord Desert as very windy. So windy, that when I turned my back to grab a filter, a gust came up and pushed the tripod over with the camera mounted to the top. Camera is ok (although it was already held together with hot pink duct tape) but the tripod, not so much. Did I mention it was my boss' tripod that I had borrowed after mine fell apart in December?

Two pieces of equipment are now held together with hot pink duct tape.

No worries. I continue on.

And I did. The above image is from the morning after the tripod incident, just before the sun rose above the clouds.

However, my learning experiences don't stop at battered equipment.

Last week I posted a link to an article by the photography forum LightStalking on my FaceBook page. The article was titled "10 Items a Photographer Should Never Leave Home Without!" Complete with and exclamation point for added emphasis.

Read the list. It's full of those no-brainers that I thought "Oh, Yeah. I always have those."

HA!

Item number 2 is spare memory cards. Well this past weekend as I was leading a hike up to the magnificent views on Mt Townsend, I noticed a red blinking light in my viewfinder. I finally looked at the blinking light and it read NO CARD.

What?!?! I thought for sure I had replaced the card. And did I have a spare? Of course not. All I could do was grumble and growl at myself and finish the hike. I was a little embarrassed, as I billed the hike as a photographer's delight. The folks who remembered their cards were delighted with the trip.

All my images of that trip will have to reside in my mind. And I hope they reside there for a long time - it was a photographer's paradise.

Training all Day

Summer has finally hit the Pacific Northwest. Or at least a little pre-summer tease of warmth and sunshine. It really has been the warmest, sunniest spring I remember here in the Puget Sound area for quite some time.

Flowers are blooming.

Streams are running high from the snow melt.

And with the melting snow, trail tread becomes exposed and people hit the trails. Including me.

Yes, I have a summer planned full of hiking and photoing, nights under the stars and sunrises over alpine lakes.

But I also have something else planned.

Each year I try to do something new. Something beyond my comfort zone. Something that stirs a bit of fear in the pit of my stomach. One year it was a solo road trip to the Southwest. Another it was climbing Asgaard Pass to the enchanting Enchantment Lakes.

This year, I will be riding the fabled Seattle to Portland bike ride - 200 miles, 2 days.

So with the flowers and the melting snow, I will be out huffing and puffing on long training rides hoping my butt doesn't go numb and willing myself to make it through the jitters. I know, if I can make it to the starting line, I will make it to Portland.

After all, the apprehension is always worse.

The image is from that first solo road trip to the Southwest - a rare quite moment in Antelope Canyon.

Letting down your Guard to find your way

I am a volunteer instructor for a navigation class with the Mountaineers.

What does that statement bring to your mind? I am an instructor for a navigation class. I must know my stuff. I always know where I am in the wilderness. I can read a map like a novel and manipulate a compass like a tearful toddler manipulates his mother in the candy aisle.

But that is not true and just a few short years ago although I took a map & compass with me on hikes, I usually left them in my pack. Both spoke a foreign language to me. A language where I wasn't even sure if I could ask for the bathroom.

I had taken navigation when I climbed Mt St Helens the 1st time. But it never seemed to sink in, it was just so weird looking. Words like topography, declination, bearing, UTM, northing, and easting made my eyes glaze over. And besides (as I justified my ignorance) I wasn't a leader - I was a follower.

Then I became a leader and navigation still seemed beyond my comprehension. After taking navigation seminars through different organizations, the compass still seemed like a mystical talisman. I even misled a hiking group in the steppe around Yakima, WA. How do you get lost on your way to the biggest hill in the middle of a plain? I mean really!

I decided to try one more time at a navigation class. I needed to take the Mountaineers navigation course, not to lead but to take the scramble course. I walked out of the workshop with mostly the right answers - something had stuck. But I was positive that my skills were so shaky, I was going to get lost out in the woods. But then something clicked. Halfway down the hill on my final exercise, I learned to trust not only my compass, but myself. I could do this. And then I realized, I could help other do this too.

So why am I telling you this story? Especially in relation to my first statement?

Because we all expect our teachers to be smarter than we are and that can sometimes be intimidating. And I learned a valuable lesson about vulnerability, relationships, and education in class recently.

I was busily helping navigation students with their exercises in the workshop portion of the class. The section of the course where we routinely throw around all those bizarre and foreign sounding words. One of my student went to the bathroom and when she came back I looked onto her tear filled eyes and saw the same apprehension I had felt just a few years before.

I decided to slow down my instruction and focused on her and another student that was struggling while my partner worked with the other students at the table (one of which was an orienteer and should have teaching the class herself). She was flustered and I let her slow down even more. At the end of the class, I related to her the same story I just told you. She looked up at me, smiled and thanked me. My story made her feel a little better. But better than that, she was ready to head to the field trip portion of the class to build her skills more.

As I write this, she is on her field trip portion. I envision a young woman gaining confidence with each step through the woods knowing that she can do this. That she can stay found.

Walking in Enchantment

With names like the Hobbit Trail and Wind in the Woods Trail where you can find bird's nest fungus and witches butter fungus, Federation Forest State Park can be an enchanting place to visit. And, if like me, you had spent the previous day standing in snow for nearly 10 hours, and I do mean standing, waiting for navigation students to find their way through the woods then Federation Forest is also a perfect place to decompress.

Federation Forest consists of 619 acres stretching along Highway 410 and the White River. I've often zipped past the park as I'm heading to & from Mt Rainier and always think "I need to stop there." But never seem to.

Until now.

One of my resolutions this year was to visit Washington State Parks - wonderful little gems dotting our landscape. Often times we get too focused on our "big" parks: Mt Rainier, Olympic, North Cascades. We get focused on the grand landscape and the miles of glorious trails. But this year marks the centennial of the Washington State parks system and I wanted to devote a little time to our pretty little parks - well-loved by us but sometimes an after-thought as we drive by.

Looking for Trails to hike? Federation Forest has 12 miles of trails through big trees and along the river.

Looking for solitude? I saw a few people in the parking lot when I arrived and another photographer studying fungus on the Wind in the Woods trail. But as I set out on the Hobbit Trail, I had the forest, the birds, the streams and moss all to myself.

Worried about road noise? For most of my hike I was far enough away from the road to not hear the cars as they passed. I knew I was getting close to the 1/2-way point when I could once again hear traffic.

Looking for a little enchantment? Hike the Hobbit Trail and you will come across a hobbit village tucked away in the woods complete with gnomes and little blue dinosaurs. And then there's the moss. Moss everywhere - dripping from trees, covering the forest floor like a luxurious blanket, glowing in the sun.

Looking for raw nature? Ancient trees mixed with vine maples and sword ferns. Streams giggling through the exposed roots. It's nearly primeval.

My resolution is off to a good start. Won't you like to come explore with me?

A Second Look

I shoot a lot while hiking. While I enjoy looking for that scene I might have in my mind, setting up the shot and waiting for the light sometimes I just need to shoot and run. Something about a scene grab my attention and I "grab and go."

This type of photography doesn't always lend itself to a carefully shot image. Or to working a scene - taking images from different angles, shutter speeds and apertures for the best composition.

Nor am I able to set up the tripod and take multiple exposures to blend together later in HDR software.

I also will apply this "grab and go" style to editing my images. If it grabs me as I sift through the images, it gets to stay. If not, then into the trash bin it goes.

But every now & then an image deserves a second look. The two images here have different stories, but each was given a second chance much to my appreciation.

1. On Gold Creek Pond, Mt Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest

While hiking through what was left of an early season snow around Gold Creek Pond, located near Snoqualmie Pass in Washington, I meandered down by the lake shore. It wasn't a particularly spectacular day for landscapes as the clouds were thick in the trees just above the trees. I was primarily shooting intimate nature portraits in the even light. There were a lot of opportunities for colorful leaves with a dusting of snow. I almost didn't take this picture as the light was flat - no features in the low clouds beyond. But the shape made by the near perfect reflection was attractive. Later as I processed the image I let the sky go white to highlight the shape of the reflection in the water.

2. Grassy Log in Nada Lake, Okanogan-Wenatchee National Forest

On my trip to the Enchantments this past October, my friends & I stayed at Nada Lake on our way in. In the morning light fell on this log out in the lake but the hill behind was still in shadow. It was such an interesting log with grass and shrubbery growing on it. I knew there was a picture in there somewhere so I took a few shots as did my companions. But as I looked at it on my computer I wasn't as thrilled as I had been when I first saw the log in the morning light. But I hesitated when I highlighted the image to throw away. I decided to crop it and darken the background enough to lose the shadowy detail that had been captured.

Every now and then, an image or a scene is worth taking a second, third or even fourth look. You might find magic in there.