These Serendipitous Moments

We were camped at the edge of a lake along the Pacific Crest Trail, the only campers there – just me and Zillah, my faithful hiking companion. We had hiked all day and by evening were ready to snuggle into our tent. Expecting a warm evening, I had left the rainfly unzipped on the tent to hopefully catch a breeze during the night. But that is not all that we would catch. As dusk settled over the little lake Zillah leaped up, hackles raised and with her nose pressed against the bug mesh of the tent let out a low rumbling growl. Bear! I peered out the tent wondering what I should do to protect us both. The splashing from the lake told me that it was coming across the lake for us. Squinting against the darkening light I saw not a bear coming at us to tear us apart, but a herd of elk playing in the lake. They splashed in it. They chased each other. They squealed elk squeals of delight. Danger averted, Zillah and I settled back into bed and listened to the elk playing until we drifted to sleep. The next morning, I looked across the lake and one lone cow stood at the opposite shore. She trotted off into the forest when she saw me. At that moment I realized I alone had experienced that marvelous interaction.

After several years, I still treasure that evening near Fish Lake and I was reminded how special it was recently on two wildlife encounters.

The 1^st encounter occurred while walking around the grounds at American Camp in the San Juan National Historical Park. I had received advice from a couple who lived on the island regarding which fork in the trail would be the best. Their advice took we along the top of the bluffs overlooking Haro Strait towards Grandma’s Cove. The cove itself is well worth the walk but as I was just finishing up trying to capture the beauty of the cove, I turned to look into the brilliant brown eyes of a silver fox. She seemed to recognize that I was no threat to her at all and meandered around on the same bluff as I was on for 20 minutes while I happily photographed her. Finally, I decided it was time for me to head back and she decided to try hunting on another part of the bluff. All the time we spent together not a single other person joined us. It was my little moment with this beautiful creature.

A few days later, I was attending an artist and photographer retreat at Mt Baker. While many of the participants were spread out through the meadows with their easels and tripods or hiking in groups to see cloud enshrouded views, I meandered through the meadow talking to photographers and artists about the colors and inspirations. After a bit – close to lunchtime – I started back to the lodge along the road and surprised a couple of ptarmigan taking refuge in some bushes beside the road. Cars passed by as I quickly created a few images of one little gal eyeing me before jumping off her little rock. I couldn’t wait to get back to the lodge and look at the images and smiling to myself. 

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.

Wilderness Symphony

Have you ever listened to the concert in a woodland meadow. In the evening when a stillness covers the world, night time creatures begin to stir, making their presence known by voicing their songs.

An owl hoots and is answered by another in the distance. They are the base to my evening's theme.

Soon they are joined by the chorus of frogs heralding spring or crickets warmed by the summer's day. Singing through the night hoping that their song entices a mate to come closer. I want to come closer, sit in the middle of the chorus and let their song lift my heart towards the sky.

The cicada's vibrating rhythm adds the soothing percussion to help you drift to sleep. My thoughts begin to wander into a dream, stepping lightly through the meadow fireflies lighting my way.

Just as I touch my sleep, an elk begins the haunting flute-like call bringing his mates to him and warding off competitors. Another across the meadow responds to his warning. A third lets them know that he too is there. Waiting. Yearning. Challenging. Their voices float over the meadow. Undulating. Caressing. One drops as another lifts.

I succumb to the lullaby and sleep to dream.

Westport Sea Lions

Each Mother's Day weekend, my family meets at Grayland State Park for a weekend of camping, beachcombing and, in some years, clamming. Normally on these weekends, I have some amazing hike planned and cant join them. But this year was different - I purposefully left the weekend open so I could join them.

Not only would I be able to spend time with my family relaxing by the beach, I would also be able to work a little on my Washington State Parks project as many of the beaches along the southern part of the state are publicly owned. I also figured I could work on a few special photo techniques while there. It would be a good weekend even though the weather reports didn't sound promising.

I got the 1st text from my cousin sometime Friday afternoon. She had gone earlier to the campsite and stopped by the harbor town of Westport. The text read - There must be 50 sea lions on the docks right now!

Whoa! That's a lot of sea lions even for the fishing port of Westport.

Westport is a fisherman's mecca. A large protected harbor on the south arm of Greys Harbor, fisherman, both recreational and commercial, moor their boats here. Clean their fish here.

As a protected harbor, Westport also provides several nice calm haul-outs for sea lions, ie, docks. And May is the beginning of breeding season for them. So by the time I got there on Saturday, about 50 sea lions were pilled on the dock, sunning themselves, barking, fighting, sleeping. Several swam around the docks and spy hopped to watch us as we watched them.

I spent some time in the morning photographing before heading to meet the family. And then after lunch, we drove back up for more photos.

I may not classify myself as a wildlife photographer, but when presented with such easy subjects even I will pull out my long lens to play.

A Little Fall Color

Hoh Rainforest, 10/23/09-10/25/09

When I was a young girl, my family would spend a week in the Hoh Rainforest every other summer. Some summers were wetter than others and I can remember hours spent inside our trailer reading as rain pattered on the roof and windows. There was something special in the rainforest. I knew it even then. So now when I want some time to feel the primal forces of life, I head to the rainforest. I love the rainforest in the summer, but began to appreciate what the forest had to offer in the autumn and will often take refuge in the cooler damper days of October.

This year I took a group of photographers with me to explore the old growth trees adorned with thick moss. We camped in the campground inside the park and woke to elk foraging through the undergrowth. A few of my fellow campers gathered at a safe distance to set up cameras as the elk settled in for a mid-morning nap. We took our leave of the dozing elk to meander through the Hall of Mosses nature trail.

We stopped to photograph a Pileated Woodpecker high on a snag. A stream then held our attention for a while before we started up the hill to the trail. Our group laughed and talked and photographed all morning and early afternoon. On our way out wee were stopped by the sighting of a Northern Pygmy Owl and we just couldn't seem to tear ourselves away. But we had to as the promise of a sunset at Ruby Beach was becoming more of a reality.

As we sat at Ruby Beach waiting for the sun to lower below the horizon we noticed our promise of color would be blocked by a fast approaching cloud bank. Not wanting to waste an opportunity, I began to photograph the waves as they came up the beach. Their foam trails heading back out to sea excited me and the rest of the group had to pull me away for dinner.

The next morning, the elk had moved on and so would we - onto Sol Duc Falls and more moss-covered forest. Each photographer that had joined me on my outing to my corner of living forest came away with great memories, photos and stories.