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.

My 12 Favorite Images of 2017

We've started 2018, a new folder has been created for the year and images are already being loaded up. I looking forward to the coming year and all it has to offer but can't let go of some of the great adventures I had in 2017. I'd like to share with you some of my favorite images. Hopefully some of them are yours too.

Christmas Snow - The holidays had been rough this year. My aunt who is succumbing to breast cancer is increasingly feeble, a friend's son died in a horrific train crash, and a mentor of mine in outdoor leadership died right before Christmas. Christmas evening, instead of heading home to dwell on the sorrow, I stopped by a little wooded park near Mt Rainier NP. As it started to snow, I stopped and let the silence and beauty surround and comfort me before nudging me onward.

Sunset Glow - Mt Rainier featured prominently during 2017. I spent several nights sleeping in my car to capture the Milky Way above the mountain. Before settling in one night to await the stars' movement into perfect position, I watched the mountain light up from the sun's glow through the smoke of nearby forest fires. The smoke caught along the ridge line at the end of the day made  the trip worthwhile.

Spreading Phlox - After spending the night in my car in the sunrise parking lot - a fitful sleep as I kept getting up to photograph the Milky Way - I hiked up to Sourdough Ridge as dawn approached. I reached the ridge and noticed a spreading phlox wrapped around a rock and figured as the sun hit mt Rainier I'd try and compose an image - flowers in focus but mountain slightly blurred so you know what it is, but also know it's not the main subject. I sat on the bench to watch light poor over the ridges around the Green River before heading back to my rock and phlox. Just as the sun hit the Willis Wall, I hit the shutter.

From Dege Peak - I had hopes of catching sunrise from the top of Dege Peak. Too many stops for predawn images made me late to that party. Fires had been burning in the area for about a week when I topped out on the peak and haze filled the landscape. One look at Mt Rainier and I knew I didn't want to bother with that "boring" view. I was far more enraptured by the golden light, the haze hanging in the air, the tonalities of color, and the curve of the ridge. This image still fills my heart with joy.

Vista House - See those dark clouds along the horizon with the bands of rain falling? Yeah, We were supposed to be camping there. But after a drenching mile into our backpack, my sister & I with our friends Evie & Kevin hoofed it quickly back to the trailhead. We decided instead to tour the Columbia River Gorge and take in some of the waterfalls. Our last stop was the Portland Women's Forum viewpoint. I pulled out my long zoom to photograph Vista House against the darkness beyond when the clouds parted for just a few seconds to shine on the building.

Beached Kayaks - These are the sunsets made for photography. The ones at the end of a storm where a breach in the clouds along the horizon allows the setting sun to light up the dark clouds. I was standing on a dock in Newberry Crater with most of the rest of the campers watching the show when I spotted two beached kayaks a little ways down. Grabbing my tripod & camera, I jumped off the dock and ran as fast as I could along the pebbled shore to get yellow kayaks against the red-orange sky.

Doorway to OZ - Well not OZ, more like a warm June Day in Cedarville, CA. I went with a friend to tour the most Northeast county in California, Modoc County, because neither of us had been there. He is a history buff and there's tons of history in Modoc County. I just like visiting new places and I like high desert and plains. One morning we stopped in Cedarville which a mile or two from the Nevada state line and meandered through the town filled with rustic Americana. This is from an antique shop. I loved the contrast of the monochromatic interior with the vibrant door and back alley.

Eclipse in Seattle - Not sure if you heard this but there was a solar eclipse in 2017. Kind of a big deal around the Northwest. While Seattle was out of the totality range, it didn't stop us from admiring the event. I decided to stay in Seattle and photograph the watchers. I came across this guy in Pioneer Square and thought he was the stereotypical Seattle-ite watching the eclipse: funky hat, shoulder bag, pink shirt, sandals, coffee in one hand, and eclipse glasses in the other.

Halloween Eyes - For the 3rd year, I volunteered at Fort Casey's Haunted Fort event during October. It's a fun event where I get to let my inner ghoul out. And of course I like taking my camera. I asked this young lady, a ghoulish pirate, for a photo. While I love intensity of her eyes, what makes this one of my favorites is letting go of my inhibitions and getting close to a stranger to accomplish the vision in my head.

Taking Flight - A group of photographers went to the Billy Frank Jr Nisqually Wildlife Refuge to  find some wintering birds. As we walked past the flock of Canada Geese, they took off. I only had seconds to pull up my camera and focus before they were gone. The flight seems to be stirring the willow behind them.

Details - I love photographing waterfalls. You can spend so much time narrowing in on the details - the splash against rocks, the spray in the air, the rhythm of the flow. Slow down the shutter speed and you open up a whole new variable. I can spend all day playing with waterfalls. This one, LaTourell Falls in the Columbia Gorge, I didn't have all day. But once I saw how the water splashed and cascaded of the rocks at its base, I knew that's what would tell the story of an early spring run-off.

Sunrise, Second Beach - So I end my stroll down memory lane with morning on Second Beach on the Olympic Coast. It was one of those soft gentle pastel mornings I look forward to on my outings. They are a reminder that life has bright outlooks and a purpose to move towards. This coming year, that purpose is to finish the book I've been working on and to continue exploring and sharing the beauty of the world with you.

The Forest for the Trees

The first of many posts about photographing forests. Check out my 10 tips on photographing forests.

Let me introduce you to my enthusiasm of photographing forest scenes and why I get excited about photographing forests.

I grew up on the wet side of the Cascade Mountains in the Pacific Northwest, and I didn't know how good I had it. I'm a bit claustrophobic and the thick forests around the Puget Sound, at times, made me tense and anxious. I would often escape to the east side of the mountains to "let my eyes breathe". I felt free, and still to this day feel a sense of freedom when I hit the road to drive over Snoqualmie Pass into the arid open lands of eastern Washington. The colors of the earth filled of hazy greens and browns fascinated me - and I could see to the horizon. The west side of the mountains were just so  . . . green and if I could see to anything in the distance, it was usually the next tree. I felt locked in by those trees, trapped.

It was no wonder that I moved to the front range of the Rockies after college. Big open skies, prairies that went on forever, mountains at my back. I was in love with the sights, the tones, the smells. Even after moving home Montana, Wyoming and Colorado still pull at my heart. But what I didn't have there, what I couldn't have was the cool embrace of the Puget Sound forests. I missed them more than I thought possible. I came home on a wet autumn day - the gold and brown leaves of Big Leaf Maples drifting to the ground to rest in puddles in the roadway. Every frayed nerve in my body dissipated. I was home.

Winter that year was grey, the kind of grey that seeps into every color in the spectrum. But as spring arrived, I began to realize how many tones of green I had missed in my early years. As leaves unfurled in the forest the greens were soft and fresh. They appeared to vibrate to the sunlight as it streamed through the canopy to touch the different shades and textures of green. Oh, how my eyes opened. I drank in every new green I could see and held it close its beauty. To this day spring is one of my favorite times to photograph the forest. I love to tell its story of life and rejuvenation.

As summer takes hold, the forest is a cool place to relax from the hectic days of activity. I slow down when I enter the forest. The trees shade my trail and I look for the textures in the moss and leaves. Flowers and berries dot the trail side with splashes of color - contrasting beautifully against the greens of Salal and Oregon Grape.

But all too soon it seems, splashes of another season begin to show in the bright places along the edges of the forest. Vine Maple is the first to turn from green. Oranges and reds speckle the landscape - demonstrating to the rest of the forest how beautiful it can become. Autumn would be my other favorite season in the trees as the vibrant colors of berry bushes and deciduous trees compliment the dark greens of our conifer.

Growing up, I used to describe winter as grey. Everything was grey, even yellow. Grey, boring, and depressing. I really can't say that anymore. I head to the forest for contrasts during the winter months. Contrast of white snow against dark trees. The soft texture of snow against the rough texture of bark. The movement of falling snow against the stationary forest.

Each forest season has its story and I am eager to help tell it.

What's your nationality?

What's your nationality?

It's a simple question with responses about being German, English, French, more likely a combination of ancestral heritage. I've asked the question of friends and friends have asked the question of me. And we've answered without much thought to the question or our answer.

It's a conversation starter.

But not the type of conversation I was expecting when I asked a friend while hiking this past summer.

Her answer startled me. Embarrassed me. And made me think.

"What's your nationality?" I asked.

"I'm American." she replied.

But of course she is. I had not intended for my question to imply that she wasn't. I sputtered an apology and reframed my question and she answered, Taiwanese, and our conversation continued. As did the conversation in my head.

I wondered why I was startled and embarrassed until I realized that she had slapped me upside the head with my white privilege as my mother would have slapped me when I did something stupid. A solid backhanded slap that let me know she was tired of my antics. Here I was getting the verbal equivalent from my hiking buddy.

I know I have privilege. I was not born with the proverbial silver spoon - far from it. I was a farm kid who ate her pets. For a time when dad was out of work, I would accompany mom to the food bank for our weekly allotment of butter, cheese, and oatmeal. I was however born with a hereditary silver spoon - I was born a white American. And I have benefited from that privilege - simple things mostly like being served more graciously than people of color were served. Yes, I've noticed the difference.

You see, to be born white in America grants you the privilege of never having to remind people that you are an American. You never have to defend your American heritage. It is automatically assumed. We've all made that mistake - looking at a European family vacationing here and not realizing they're tourists until they start speaking. But my friends who are Asian and my friends who are Hispanic, well it's assumed that they were not born here or, worse yet, are "illegal".

We expect People of Color to prove to us that they are American instead of assuming that they are.

My question that I asked my friend - how many times have you actually been asked, "What's your nationality?" I know I haven't been asked very often. Have you? I neglected to ask, but I am sure my friend has been asked that question all her life and far too often than she'd like to recall. I am sorry I added to that list. It was my assumptions based on my privilege that made me ask.

I was reminded of this conversation today when I saw a "corrected" meme. The original meme stated that It doesn't matter if you're black, white, yellow or brown - You're an American start acting like it. The corrected version stated that Whether you're black, white, yellow or brown - You're an American start treating each other like it.

I really don't have the answers for all of us to magically get along, but I know that taking the time to ask the wrong questions, listening to the response then finding a better question - a conversation can get started.

In the Shadow of Dege Peak

In the month I’ve been away, the alpine meadows have begun to tarnish under the summer sun. The vibrant yellows and purples of spring wildflowers are replaced reds and golds of autumn.

Just yesterday, my sister posted a photo of bog gentian – its deep blur bell shaped flowers a stark contrast with the yellowing grasses in the frame. It is the herald for summer’s end. My friend Karen Sykes would look upon the low-lying blooms with sadness knowing autumn was right around the corner and the first winter snows nipping at its heels. Soon the high meadows will be under feet of snow.

There is no such thing as a lazy summer at 6400 feet. Spring is a hard-fought season in the NW mountains with avalanche and glacier lilies pushing their way through the last snow drifts into July. As summer arrives, you can begin seeing the colors of autumn kissing the foliage and flowers start to seed. Life is on a limited clock in the alpine zone. In a few weeks, purple cascade asters will curl onto themselves and the only blooms left are the white heads of the pearly everlasting. But the huckleberry bushes and the false hellebore leaves change to more vibrant colors.

Albert Camus once said, “Autumn is a second spring when every leaf is a flower.” In an alpine meadow the flowery leaves come in the warmer hues of the rainbow. The seed pods are gathered by the critters who will live under the snow for the next months. If there is any season that luxuriates in the mountains, it would be winter. Flurries begin coating the warm meadow colors as earl as September and last well into our low-land summer celebrations.

In Seattle, our only hint of oncoming fall and winter’s first flurries are fresh faced kids waiting at the bus stops and the Halloween decorations stacked up at our local stores. But here, in the shadow of Dege Peak on Mt Rainier, autumn has arrived.

Oh the Fern!

I learned an interesting little fact today. Quite surprised me.

The bracken fern is the most common fern in the northwest and throughout the world.

Growing up in the northwest, I had always thought our most common fern was the dark green sword fern. It's the fern that is seen on our forest floors all year round with its Christmasy green leathery leaves. You will always see the sword fern along your trails and paths. Then I'm told by a national park ranger I trust that no, the bracken fern is even more common than the sword fern.

So yeah, I had to look it up and wouldn't you know - the ranger was right. The bracken fern grows on every continent (except Antarctica) and in all life zones (except deserts). That's pretty amazing.

Not only is it prevalent around the globe, its fossil remains have been dated to 55 million years ago. It's old and abundant. The plant that just keeps going and growing no matter what mother nature throws at it.

In fact it was made to be dominant and take over. Allelopathic chemicals that inhibit growth of other plants are produced and released by bracken ferns. They seem to take over in areas of forest fire because of this chemical.

Another interesting tidbit I found is that the name bracken is derived from Swedish & Danish words that mean simply, fern. So when we say bracken fern we're really saying fern fern.