Visions of Big Horn Sheep

Umtanum Canyon, 5/10/08, 5 miles, 1500 ft elevation

Today was the day we were supposed to climb Mt St Helens with our friends. But after last week's reconnaissance trip and finding far too much snow with the added danger of weekend rains, Michael and I decided to instead head eastward to the Yakima Canyon and the fabled wildflowers of Umtanum.

I had on several occasions read about the variety of wildflowers that could be found on the hills surrounding the canyon but never found myself among them. And as snow and rain fell on the Cascades, I couldn't think of a better place to hike than east of all that weather. Plus, with Michael taking the Mountaineers' Naturalist Class, it would be an opportune time for him to practice some plant identification.

The dogs were a little more then excited as we made our way under shrouded skies and were a bit much to handle as we stopped to look at each new plant and discuss the characteristics, so we let go of the leashes to let them wander along the trail ahead of us. We hadn't seen many people on the trail and actually hadn't seen anyone for at least 30 minutes as the pups sniffed here and there and played in the mud.

We had been following a little trickle of a creek up the canyon and stopped at one of the crossings to rest a little and giggle as the dogs laid in the stream soaking the cooling mud and water into their fur. Then Michael, ever so quietly, got my attention. "Honey? Look up the hill. Tell me if you see what I'm seeing." Sure enough, there standing above us, were 8-10 Bighorn ewes, evaluating the safety of coming down for a drink.

I rattled a few images off before we continued on, making room for the ewes at the stream. A little ways up the trail, I decided to circle back and take a few more pictures of them at the stream, but they had completely disappeared. They weren't at the creek and when I climbed to the top of the ridge they were nowhere to be seen on either side. Had our few minutes been a illusion? Without the pictures we really wouldn't be able to tell.

There's a Butt-Load of Snow Out There!

Mt St Helens, 3/4/08

WOW! Michael & I went down to Mt St Helens to investigate the conditions for our climb next week. Needless to say, the climb is canceled because there is just too much snow. We didn't even get out of the car to look around. We drove up the road through cut banks of snow still 5 feet high to the turn around point 3 miles away from the trailhead, turned around and drove back out.

But before we went home, we stopped by the Hulda Klager lilac gardens in woodland and the Cedar Creek grist mill and just played tourist for a while.

A conversation with a Fawn Lily

Duckabush River Trail, 5/3/08, 10 miles, 1200 Elevation

I slowly stepped along the trail creeping up Big Hump, the large hill between me and our groups' turn around point. The group had long ago left me behind, faster uphills than I could ever imagine myself going. Our co-leader lagged behind me so as not to give me any undue pressure to push myself harder than I'd be capable to sustain. It was a quiet respite after the chattering of the group - all I heard over my breathe were the sounds of water tumultuously rushing downhill and the far-off call of a male grouse.

As I climbed higher, the low-lying clouds began to form a dense thicket of fog around the trees, filtering the light to a low glow reminiscent of an ordinary December Day. But this was May, on the Olympic Peninsula. I have often started out on a trail in full glory of the sun only to be drenched to the bone by the time I turned around and dry again when I reached the car. There is no telling what a spring hike on the peninsula will give you. And visual treats were what I could expect today.

It was about this time, as I was thinking of the clouds and the changes in the forest as I climbed higher into the clouds, that I spotted the first of them. "Oh my," I thought. "Is that what I think it is?" My curiosity propelled my feet further up the hill at a slightly faster pace. As I turned the next switchback, there my suspicions were laid to rest - handfuls of Fawn Lilies lined the hillside above the trail, their white heads bowed low with moisture over their mottled leaves. "Hello my pretties," I breathed as I slowly walked past eager to walk amongst these little gems but not wanting to pass too quickly. They seemed to sparkle in the dark grey of the day. Other flowers awaited me further up the hill, and I was excited to see each one in turn - Chocolate Lily, Flowering Red Current, Small Blue-Eyed Mary, Penstemon, mini-monkeyflowers. Little jewels against the murky day.

We were well within the cloud as wee reached the peak and traveled along a moss-lined trail through the woods. My pace quickened here to stay with the rest of the group who had waited for us at the top of the hill. And in the murky cloud where little light made its way through the thick cloud and the forest canopy, our way was lit by the vibrant green of moss along the trail, which seemed to glow from a source all its own. The chattering again picked up, but I found refuge in the quiet of the climb accompanied by the sounds of the river and a happy grouse and my own short conversation with the Fawn Lily.

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.

Cleaning Up

Washington Beach Clean-up, 4/26/08

1,200 volunteers picking up 21 tons of trash and marine debris. That is what Earth Day means to me. A tradition I started 6 years ago saw this year a change in organizational leadership. Jan Klippert who had started the Beach Clean-up 10 years ago passed the torch to Northwest Interpretive Association and the other partnering organizations. As he passed his leadership flame on his own flame died out. We gave our respects to the man and his mission as we made our way along the beaches searching the driftwood for debris.

This year I was again joined by familiar faces - Michael, Kristi, Diane and Randy. And we added some new ones too - Kyle, Amanda, Chris, Jenny and their two little girls. South Beach in the Olympic National Park was our territory as it had been for the past couple of years and we casually walked down the beach before working through the maze of driftwood back to our cars.

Amanda was the first to score garbage gold as she called for help to pull out a 4'X3' piece of styrofoam wedged between some logs. The rest of the morning was filled with ropes and plastic, more styrofoam, a couple of shoes, a Japanese float, tire, life jacket, and the ubiquitous crabpot. Little Briana & Kaylee really got into the fun and ran from piece of trash to the next as if in a race to find the most garbage.

The morning was cloudless and it seemed to warm up quite a bit as we made our way back up the beach, but it was a day worth spending with friends and family. Jan died just a month prior to this latest incarnation of his dream. But his spirit seemed to be with us as so many volunteers gathered to make our home planet just a little bit cleaner.

Hanging by a Rope

Frenchman's Coulee, 4/12/08

My friend Merry & I were headed to the Palouse for a little practice with the wildflowers. However, snow still encased most of the area so when the thought of stopping by Frenchman's Coulee to watch the rock-climbers we didn't have a second thought. I was amazed with the skill and dexterity of some of the climbers and had fun rattling off frame after frame as they danced their way up the face of the rocks. Kind of makes me want to learn a few rope skills myself.

One Last Waterfall

Palouse Falls, 3/26/08

It was cold this morning as Olympia & I drove out the old dirt road, winding our way between the ranches on our way to that perfect view of the Wallowas. I had spotted the view the day before as I was about to round the bend and drop back down in the valley. "This is it!" I said to Olympia ass the mountains came into full view. "This is where I want to watch the sunrise." And the reward was spectacular, the pinks lit up the snow still clinging to the slopes and sparkled on the clouds overhead. Then all too soon it was gone.

After exploring the surrounding area a bit, we packed up to head northward towards Walla Walla and Palouse Falls. I stopped in the town of Wallowa for a mocha breve made by a friend at the Blonde Strawberry Coffeeshop - worth the stop anytime of the year.


We reached Palouse Falls in the afternoon after driving through fields showing the first signs of spring and others still sleeping under the spell of winter. I had never seen Palouse Falls and was amazed at the size of this cascade in the heart of sagebrush country. But the view was magnificent as I stood high on the cliff overlooking the gorge that had taken centuries to carve through the volcanic rock.


At our feet stood the most raggedy yellow-bellied marmot I had ever seen, but also the bravest. His home was in the cracks and crevices over-looking the gorge. Just watching him jump around on the rocks made my stomach lurch. After a quiet and cold evening at the falls, Olympia made our way home to spend the rest of the week in relative warmth at home.