A Mother's Touch

Mother's Day.

It's been 25+ years since I thought of celebrating this holiday by giving my mom flowers or an African Violet or an owl figurine. Mom died far too early in her life and mine.

As a young woman heading out toward life, I missed her presence, her advice and her love. I was only 24 when she died from complications due to Type 2 Diabetes. She was 57. I had just gotten married to a man I did not love and he knew. He demonstrated his frustration through his fists.

But Mom didn't raise me to be a punching bag. I knew it. He knew it. And after an emergency room visit with friends we were divorced. Thoughts turned to returning home to the safety of family as at the time I was in Ohio. But Mom would have wanted me to follow my dreams and so I stayed in school and became an educator.

Not liking the public school system, I taught college level courses and, later, extending education for adults. And when I look at what I teach (hiking, navigation, photography, the natural world) I see her influence.

Mom taught me about the natural world, life cycles, love of being in nature and a vision of the art in everyday life. She taught me to look at the more minuscule world even as I gazed in wonder at the grand views. And she showed me that helping others find their view is the most rewarding. 

And so, without even really thinking about it I will be celebrating Mother's Day in the world she taught me to love and to share. This Mother's Day I'll be backpacking with friends and new hikers sharing my love of this natural world with them. 

Thank you mom. I miss you.

Big Doug

They call you Big Doug an I wonder if you like the name or are oblivious to the hikers who come to gape at your size as I have. Is it rude to stare at a tree?

I sit at your base, on roots of a tree seen in any other context could be considered grand yet nest to you it seems small and insignificant. Your stature reaches toward the sky with branches only near your crown - they appear to be arms outstretched to welcome the sun.

The stories you tell are in the cracks of your bark. Burn marks from a long forgotten wildfire scar your trunk, the bark seemingly more fragile than the rest. small shrubs have started to sprout from the debris in your crevassed bark.

You're an old being, an Ent taking the time to tell your stories. To whisper you wisdom on the breeze. Living a life of quiet contemplation among your peers conversing through the creaks of your stems, the sway of your limbs and the buzz of life around you.

What shall I call you you other than venerable?

Washington State Parks: St Edwards

Has this ever happened to you?

You pull into the parking lot for an evening of photography and as you do spot the perfect photo.

Oh, that light.

As you hurriedly park hoping you don't ding another car and actually get your car between the lines, your thoughts are focused on equipment, camera settings and the fading light.

Oh. That light.

You envision your composition as you fumble with lenses and setting. Oh wait, the tripod. Screw the tripod - get that light.

You scurry across the parking lot trying to avoid cracks in the pavement, other pedestrians and cars.

Oh my Gawd, the light!

You compose, focus the camera, focus your mind and press the shutter. Once. Twice. And your perfect light is gone, obscured by clouds.

You spend another hour meandering in the light of fading day creating several more images that make you smile until it is time to go.

Of course the 1st image you look at is the 1st image you made and your smile becomes a thought - I don't suck after all.

Won't you join us?

Each of us has our reason. For me personally it's the photos. Not the ones I created but the ones I see on environmental websites. I'm sure you've seen them.

The turtle wearing a plastic six-pack ring that is girdling it's shell.

The dead bird - starved to death because it mistook colorful plastic bits as food.

Yeah, you know the photos.

I started volunteering with the Olympic Coast Cleanup back in 2000. Over the years I've gone to pick up marine debris by myself, with family, with friends (one all the way from Oklahoma) and other volunteers (one couple who was visiting from France and decided to join).

I collected trash from easy beaches to access to others requiring an overnight stay.

And I watched as more volunteers joined, more beaches were added and the coordinating group Washington CoastSavers develop from a small group of like-minded folks to an internationally recognized group with high ambitions to keeping our oceans and beaches clean of debris. They have reached beyond the one spring clean-up a year to three cleanups - Earth Day, July 5th and the International Coastal Cleanup.

It's not just the core group of committee members who have this dedication, but the army of volunteers who devote a day or two or three to pull debris off the beaches - our friends and family. Just last year, 1200 volunteers carried 19 tons of marine debris off Washington's beaches during the Earth Day cleanup.

We're about to do it again.

On April 23rd this year, 1000+ volunteers will again spend the day cleaning our states beaches. Will you join us?

Even before the 23rd cleanup, there is an opportunity to help CoastSavers by attending and Evening of Music, Art and Adventure on April 9th. There will be a surf rock band - The Echo Devils - providing the music, live and silent auctions and refreshments. I would love to see you there.

What will be your reason for helping?

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.

And This is Why We Can't Have Nice Things

Summer of 2013 found me excitedly exploring Point Reyes National Seashore for the first time. I camped just outside the park in Point Reyes Station and drove most days through the small community of Inverness and their iconic shipwreck, the S.S. Point Reyes.

The S.S. Point Reyes has been stranded on a sandbar in Tomales near town for as long as anybody in town remembers. Photographers and tourists stopped to photograph this very picturesque derelict of a ship.

That is until recently.

Oh folks will still be able to stop and see the wreckage but the wreckage is greater than it used to be because of some unthinking fools who thought a cool picture was worth the risk. Read an article describing what happened here.

Steel Wool Spinning has gained in popularity over the years as a photographic gimmick. Set fire to steel wool and spin it around on a string as sparks fly of in arc - it creates really cool photos that get lots of likes on FaceBook and Instagram.

The problem is, well, those sparks. They spinning is casting off sparks of molten hot steel. They burn when they land on skin. They burn when they land on dried wood, grass and other burnables. They don't just evaporate into thin air. And when they land on something, they don't just disappear.

All too often, photos of spinning steel wool are made in our wild places. Places that are protected, places that are sensitive, places that could burn. And even if the sparks from spinning steel doesn't set off a fire, there is still the matter of the bits of steel left behind. This is basic Leave No Trace Principles - leave a place as you found it.

A friend once posed this question (and this goes towards biologicals too). Ask yourself - would this/these bits of steel wool be here if it wasn't for me? If the answer is no (and generally the answer to this question is no) then it doesn't belong there and you need to pack it out. Period. Little bits of steel left behind are littering and damaging. Even if you can't see them, they're still destructive by adding elements to the land that weren't there to begin with.

But if you find you must spin steel wool for a cool photo, do me a favor. Look around you and imagine this space as your home. Would you spin burning steel wool in your home? Then maybe you shouldn't spin it here either.

At this point the National Park Service is considering removing the S.S. Point Reyes as it's now a safety hazard. And that is sad for photographers, tourists and residents alike.

The Distraction of the Camera

SPOILER ALERT!!! If you have not seen The Secret Life of Walker Mitty stop reading right now, head immediately to Netflix to watch one of the most endearing films in recent years. Then you can come back and finish reading this blog post.

In the movie The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, Walter played by Ben Stiller heads out on a quest to find renowned photojournalist Sean O'Connell played by Sean Penn. When Walter finally finds Sean, he is sitting watching the den of a snow leopard, lens pointed towards a mass of rock. During the ensuing conversation, the snow leopard appears. They watch as the leopard emerges and looks around. Finally Walter asks Sean if he going to take the picture. Sean replies "Sometimes I don't. If I like a moment, for me, personally, I don't like to have the distraction of the camera. I just want to stay in it."

That line resonated with me and is one of several reasons I fell in love with the movie. (Not the least of those is Ben Stiller's performance - there's nothing like a grizzled man in a parka to make me smile.)

It's a statement about being in the moment. Enjoying what is there - the sights, sounds, emotions.

How often have you set aside your camera to watch the sun set below the horizon? Or stopped washing dishes to watch the kids play tag? Sat in silence watching how the sun sparkles off the leaves around and above you.

Be in the moment. Don't worry about camera settings or your to-do list. Believe me, most every destination you're heading toward will be there when you get there. And certainly if you want to catch the emotion of a scene in your photography, put the camera down and feel. Immerse yourself in the moment. Then and only then do you lift your camera back up to create your image.

I was reminded of this on a recent trip to the Skagit Valley to see the Snow Geese. Every winter 10's of thousands of Snow Geese descend on the farmlands of the Skagit Valley to feed before heading back to their nesting grounds near Russia. Their numbers turn the fields white. With so many the noise is almost deafening. Their high notes are the honking of the geese communicating to each other. The base is a humming as they graze - a sort of yum-yum-yum-yum as they eat. An eagle flies near and as one they honking becomes higher as they lift off away from danger, circle around, land and graze some more.

I stopped photographing them after a while to just listen to their song and watch as they moved past me. Leaning against the fence protecting the birds from us, I watched as a story of life played out before me. And every now and then one goose would stop to watch me too.