Halloween Volksmarch

10/28/06 - 10K

Every Halloween, my sister, Kristi, & I along with Michael, our friend Diane and her son Randy head to Remlinger Farms in Carnation for the annual Halloween Volksmarch. We'll also take the puppies along for a refreshing walk in farming country. Generally we dress up for the occasion wearing costumes as varied as farm animals to cereal killers. (yes, I spelled that correctly.) The walk meanders around Remlinger Farms and the town of Carnation, along the Tolt River and through Big Leaf Maples.

This year Kristi & her dachshund Joey dressed up as hippies, just too cute the both of them. Randy came dressed in Scottish attire which looked fitting to the facial hair he's beginning to grow and his broad shoulders. Kristi's other dog Frankie came as a witch which is pretty normal for her - that, or the other itch word. Sometimes she's not a very good dog. Michael & I however didn't dress up at all nor did we get the dogs anything fun to wear - but they didn't seem to mind too much.

It was a glorious day as the fog burned off and the colors of autumn sparkled with dew. We enjoyed the morning; filled with chatter, walking, and laughs.

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.