Strategizing September Morn

Day 335: Tomorrow is the second biggest holiday of my personal calendar. No, I'm not referring to Labor Day, although this year, it coincidentally falls on the same date. I am talking about September Morn. For me, the first of September marks the beginning of the Earth's in-gathering, a time when she pulls her energies together to prepare for the long winter ahead, a time when she guards her children most carefully and tenderly that they might survive.

Those who know me well know that on September Morn (or thereabouts), it is my custom to plunge myself in a cold mountain tarn in a ritual of spiritual renewal, my "annual bath," as it were. It is also an occasion when I like to do something special like go on an adventure or buy myself a present. Often, the day is spent hiking (preferably in solitude). This year, I've already had my bath...two of them, as a matter of fact...and with a busy September schedule staring me in the face, I'm going to have to grab my moment when I can.

Labor Day or not, I have a hike planned for tomorrow. It's a geology project of sorts, tracking down a particular rock formation to examine the amygdules it bears. It's some distance to drive to the trailhead, so I'll be leaving well before the sun starts to cast its blush in the eastern sky. Hopefully, by arriving before sane folk are out of bed, I'll be assured of a parking space. It's tough when September Morn shares the calendar with Labor Day!

A Mystery Solved

Day 334: The human being is by nature a collector, transporting objects from one location to another, there to confound archaeologists ten thousand years down the line. A trove of seashells known only to occur in Polynesia will surface in the center of what is now Kansas someday, and bones from foxes and wolverines may find their way to New Zealand or an East Indian shore. We pick things up and take them home because they're pretty or unusual, or sometimes simply because they appeal to us in some mysterious way. Thus it was that this two-pound hunk of rock managed to creep inside my backpack thirty years ago, and thence to a shelf in my home where it remained a mystery. It was unusual in its original location (perhaps relocated there by another collecting creature like me), a unique find no rockhound could pass by. Thirty years its composition remained a mystery until I met USGS geologist Tom Sisson, who offered to put a sample through testing in order to assuage my curiosity.

Diaspore falls among the minerals referred to generically as bauxite. I quote the authority: "It's diaspore: AlO(OH). I analyzed for Si, Ti, Al, Fe, Mn, Mg, Ca, Na, K, Cl, F, S, Sr, and Ba. All I came up with were Al and a little F. The analytical totals were quite low and the mineral damages under the electron beam, which is typical of hydroxides that form at low temperature (we can't analyze for O or H easily). Since the only cation of abundance is Al (excluding possible H), it must be gibbsite (Al(OH)3), diaspore (AlO(OH)), or boehmite (also AlO(OH) but different structure). It's too hard and the habit is wrong for gibbsite or boehmite, but both are right for diaspore."

Believe it or not, I have a couple of people waiting in the wings to hear the result of this analysis. The rock has been returned to my bedroom windowsill where now when my eye falls upon it, I can say, "Diaspore!" and feel richer for knowing.

Possession Is Nine Points Of The Law

Day 333: Whether the old expression "possession is nine points of the law" would stand up in court is highly unlikely. Whether it stands up in my living room is inarguable. Whoever gets the back of the loveseat first owns it until they abdicate (or in this case, fall asleep and, subject to the older and undeniable law of gravity, slide off down behind).

It took Tip a while to warm up to the idea of having a large piece of furniture at his disposal after years of having only cat perches and chairs available. However, now that he's discovered the comforts of ample padding and a dip to accommodate his sizable tummy, he demands equal time with Skunk as sole possessor of the couch.

Made A Sweet Million

Day 332: Rich are those whose gardens produce, and let me tell you, I have made a boodle this year! My Sweet Million cherry tomatoes are producing as many as I can reasonably consume. What made the difference after a long run of failures? I bought bigger plants instead of trying to economize. I brought them home with blossoms already forming, just the head-start they needed in my short-season garden.

With Oregon Spring, it's been a different story. It's a full-size tomato, and while it came on strongly at first, it's fallen back now, and has only a few green fruits which I doubt will mature before first frost. It did well for me last year, though. That said, my main use for tomatoes is as snack food, not as a condiment to go with burgers. I would far rather pick a handful of Sweet Millions to nibble on my way out to the mailbox than harvest an equal weight of a beefsteak variety to slice.

Whirlpool Nebula

Day 331 (Part B - please read previous post): My thanks to Braden Henricksen who performed the astrophotography to my specs! I did some further enhancement by tone-mapping the image heavily. This is the Whirlpool Nebula as seen through the observatory telescope at Starry Hill.

A Visit To Starry Hill

Day 331: Heading north on Hwy 7 from the Eatonville Triangle, you come 'round a corner and begin a descent into Ohop Valley. Not long before you reach the intersection with Peterson Road, you can catch the briefest glimpse of the dome of Starry Hill Observatory near the crest of the ridge on the opposite side of the valley. Below, the land is protected from development by the Nisqually Land Trust and a proposed State Park. Above, the vault of the heavens rises, devoid of light pollution except at its lower edge. The Milky Way flows through the night like a river and thousands upon thousands of stars shine to be seen over a celestial panorama not visible from the cities. It was my great privilege to have been invited to a "star party" at Starry Hill Observatory last night, an event which kept me up well past bedtime and was worth every second of lost sleep.

Guests from Mount Rainier National Park's Interpretive Division gathered near sundown to await darkness, and were given an introduction to telescopes of various sizes and shapes before being taken into the planetarium for a display/sky map of our proposed targets. Key points for locating the stars and galaxies listed on our "passports" were explained in detail, most using an asterism called the Summer Triangle as a guide. Although I'd owned a small Tasco telescope when I was a teenager and had an interest in astronomy, the Summer Triangle was a new one to me. That was the first of my discoveries for the night, and from then on, I learned at every step.

Assisted by three teen-aged "star guide" interns, Tom and Gracie Pauly took their guests on a fantastic ramble among the stars. My favourite of the night was Albireo, a double-star system boxed within the Summer Triangle. Next was the Wild Duck Cluster, a grouping of stars so dense that through the eyepiece, it seemed there was more light than darkness. This cluster is the "missing pearl" in the String of Pearls (a constellation which will now be obvious to me when I see it again).

Later in the evening, small groups were escorted into the observatory to observe the process of astrophotography. One of the star guides brought the Whirlpool Nebula to the screen and captured it in a 90-second exposure.

Starry Hill Observatory is a private organization, dedicated to bringing science to kids (or rather, bringing kids to science). The enthusiasm of the star guides is a testament to their success at the project. And this kid, grey-haired though I may be, had the time of her life exploring the night sky in a fabulous new experience. Thank you so much, Tom and Gracie!

Classic Tourist Shot

Day 330: Summer is winding down. There's a nip in the morning air even in Flatland, and the sky is taking on that blue shade which typifies September on the Mountain. The wildflowers have mostly had their fling and are now husbanding their energies to survive the long months of cold and snow.

This is the time of year I love best. Soon, you'll be hard pressed to find a mosquito in the backcountry. The gentians will come, last flower of the season, blue cups capturing the sky within their depth. It is a glorious time to be in the mountains, September. Go, and get their good tidings, as John Muir once advised.

Ohop Valley Fish-Out

Day 329: Years ago, meandering Ohop Creek was ditched and straightened by farmers who wanted to drain the natural wetland and turn it into a cow pasture. As it turned out, the soil was too clayey to perk well, and flooded seasonally with the heavy winter rains. In recent years, the Nisqually Land Trust has worked to have the natural meander restored, and today saw the completion of another section. Dozens of volunteers from several different organizations gathered together to help with a "fish-out," i.e., removal of fish, crustaceans, shellfish and amphibians from the blocked-off straight section of the creek and relocation to the new meander. They were captured by seine and hand-net, lifted out by the bucketload, transported to a station where they were categorized, weighed and measured, and then were placed in a holding tank to await the final opening of the last blockades at the top of the new creek channel. Then they would be released into their new habitat where hopefully they will prosper.

I was a member of a seining crew, and for the most part, our pulls yielded up sculpins of several varieties, Coho salmon fry, dace, cutthroat trout and an abundance of crayfish from tiny to some of the largest I've ever seen. We found a few freshwater mussels in our section, and another section yielded at least a hundred. After one or two passes with the seine, the water became so cloudy that we couldn't tell how deep it was, and anyone who had come hoping not to go in above the tops of their gumboots soon learned that that was an impossible dream. Some wore waders. Others (including me) only donned boots as protection against rocks and submerged branches, and waded out hip-deep in whatever we happened to be wearing. Some passes with the nets turned up nothing; others brought a dozen or more critters to the buckets. The largest fish rescued from our seine was a sculpin approximately six inches in length. Several of the crawdads rivalled it for size.

In all, it was a very relaxed and rewarding day, and I am looking forward to the time when the Land Trust holds a planting here to repair the scarification done by the heavy equipment in the course of creating the new meander. It takes time to put things to rights, and I may not last to see it, but I have confidence that Ohop Valley will once again provide habitat for native species.

Happy Birthday, National Park Service!

Day 328: August 25 marks the 98th birthday of the National Park Service, and we'd like you to come to the party! On the 25th (tomorrow), entrance fees will be waived at all 401 National Parks across the country, so come out and enjoy the day. Take a hike, catch a campfire talk, bring your kids and encourage them to earn a Junior Ranger badge! There are activities for all ages in a Park near you. Happy birthday to us!

Flasher

Day 327: This photo should dispel any notions my readers may have had about Great Blue Herons being graceful, elegant birds. Of course, nobody looks good when they're fresh out of the tub and I'm sure this fellow (?) wasn't expecting the paparazzi to be on his doorstep. Star attractions just can't have a private moment without somebody pointing a camera at them.

On Nessie's Island

Day 326: Locals will tell you stories about the monster in these waters; "Nessie," they call her, after that more famous monster of Scotland's Loch Ness. Like the Scottish Nessie, no one has any viable proof of her existence, and thus the unbelievers scoff and scorn reports. But I know Nessie is real. A little over five years ago, she nearly gobbled two good friends who had gone to look for a geocache bedded on her spine.

It was March, and even in summer, these deep waters are cold. In March, the winds blow and the whitecaps rise, and the water temperature plummets to just a few degrees above freezing. Jeff and Dan had found the cache and were on their way back, dressed in heavy coats and foul-weather gear, when Nessie rose. She capsized their canoe and plunged them into the frigid waves. They had time to struggle out of some of their gear before the bite of hypothermia set in, blunting their senses, and it was only by great good fortune that a homeowner on the shoreline saw them go over. That samaritan put in a call to 911, and again by a stroke of luck, the firehouse was nearby.

When the two men were pulled from the water, Dan (more heavily fleshed) was coherent. Jeff did not respond. Both were hustled to the hospital. Several hours later, I got a call. Dan was going to be okay, but Jeff was not out of danger.

The following afternoon, Jeff was also released. Neither man remembers much about their experience, and their geocaching logs say simply, "Piece of cake." There are some things you just can't talk about, and an encounter with Nessie ranks high on the list.

Nessie was snoozing when I put into port on her shoulder today. She did not stir when I retrieved the geocache from its position between her vertebrae. But I did not take a single step without having Dan and Jeff at the forefront of my mind.

Party Fare

 Day 325: Just a word of advice: if you get a party invitation from me, you'd better read the fine print. My favourite kind of party is a WORK PARTY, and I have a big one coming up. The Nisqually Land Trust has made a generous loan of ten weed wrenches for the event, and the Park's Volunteer Program has invested in extra bow saws in the knowledge that I'll be calling for them again. We've borrowed lopping shears from Maintenance, and I have a crew of twenty adults and ten youngsters coming in on Sunday to remove the small alders encroaching on the campground road. Lemme tell ya, the Crow knows how to party!

Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge

Day 324: "We now return you to our regularly scheduled program..." and a five-panel panorama of the spectacular Nisqually delta. I have been here many times when the tide was fully out and the Refuge landscape was nothing but grey tones and mud, but on this occasion, its beauty was revealed.

The boardwalk which takes you nearly two miles out to the gazebo from where this photo was taken is a marvelous piece of engineering. It stands high above the tide flat with its feet anchored somewhere deep in the mud. You never feel that you're walking on a rickety old dock here. It is as solid as a rock and built to last many decades despite the shifting tides below. Just remember to make a stop before you leave on your walk. There are no "facilities" along the route!

Purple Loosestrife, Lythrum Salicaria

Day 323: "We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you Purple Loosestrife." Yes, I know I promised my readers more photos from the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge, but my leisurely kayak outing on Mineral Lake turned into an invasive plant survey before I'd gotten halfway to the far end. I found two well-established clumps of it along a 50-foot stretch of shoreline and at least one single stem in between the two. I was not equipped to remove it, so took photos and turned in a report to the Invasive Plant Council as part of my volunteer duties.

This "weed" is not yet a serious problem in western Washington, but as a Class B invasive, it is on the hit list for eradication. Class B invasives are those which may be abundant in one part of the state, but may be rare or absent in another. The goal is to control them before they have a chance to spread. Class B invasives include such things as Spotted Knapweed, Policeman's Helmet, Poison Hemlock and Japanese Knotweed, although extermination of the latter would appear to be a hopeless cause. It is important to know how to control a particular invasive. Some can be dug out, but in other cases, digging is contraindicated (Knotweed is a case in point). If you have an invasive on your property, be sure to find out the proper control method for the species.

Wapato, Sagittaria Latifolia

Day 322: Wapato (also called Arrowhead for obvious reasons) is resident in the lowland marshes of western Washington. As such, it is not something I see often, and this marked the first occasion I have caught it during its blooming period. It often grows with the leaves partly submersed. The roots (tubers) of this plant provided starch to the indigenous diet.

This photo was taken at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge just outside the visitor center. Wapato and cattail surround the little pond where yesterday's Bullfrog was hanging out.

You Can't See Me

Day 321: For the next couple of days, I will be featuring photos shot at the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge. Today was the first time I've visited the Refuge when the tide was in, and the weather was perfect for a leisurely stroll on the boardwalk. However, the critter who really stole the show for me was this Bullfrog despite the fact that he's a member of an invasive species. He and several of his fellows were in the pond adjacent to the gift shop and so well-camouflaged by the tiny leaves of some aquatic plant that I never would have known they were there if I had not seen this fellow rise to the surface while I was photographing Wapato (one of the upcoming posts). The vegetation was so dense that even when he swam, there was no break in the blanket of green. It is easy to see why this species is such a successful predator.

The Tail Of Skunk's Couch

Day 320: It's only eleven seconds, so watch fast. This activity is done in spurts, with protracted periods for working out strategies and logistics in between assaults. The video shows a single outburst. And because she's an old granny, after five or ten minutes of this, she curls up for a nap.

Aptly Called "Horridus"

Day 319: Oplopanax horridus, otherwise known as Devil's Club, is aptly named in either English or Latin. The bane of hikers (especially those who travel cross-country rather than on trails) grows to ten feet in height with foot-wide leaves and one-inch diameter stalks which bear 2,473,876 hooked thorns per square inch by actual count. Or at least that's what you'd think if you accidentally grabbed one to pull yourself up a slope. It is arguably one of the thorniest plants in the forest and often chokes streambeds with an impenetrable tangle. Topographic considerations aside, Devil's Club provides an even stronger reason to stick to ridgelines when you're travelling off trail!

Dam Shack

Day 318: Was it the dam operator's domicile? A storage shed for tools or other equipment? Does my key work in the lock on the door? What would I find inside? I don't know the answer to any of these questions, believe it or not, although the last two pose quite a temptation and might yield up the answer to either of the first two. In any event, the dam shack is perched rather precariously, a factor which may have led to its abandonment. The dam is defunct, although the concrete spillway is still solid. The wooden penstocks emerging from its base have decayed into splinters and a spaghetti-tangle of reinforcing wire. It's an intriguing location, this forgotten corner of Mount Rainier National Park. Maybe some day, I'll unlock its secrets.

Scotch Broom Pull

Day 317: This one is for everybody who asked, "What's a weed wrench?" after a recent post. Cris Peck, volunteer coordinator with the Nisqually Land Trust was happy to pose with this most marvelous tool during our Scotch broom pull today.

And now for the story. It didn't quite go according to plan. We had been slated to pull broom along the bank of the Mashel River not far above its confluence with the Nisqually, but in the process of descending to the river's edge, the rudimentary trail passed through a thicket of Snowberry. That was when the first evidence of yellowjacket activity made itself felt...on my temple. I ki-yi-yied that I'd been stung, and no sooner than the two people in front of me reacted by picking up the pace, another one nailed me on the back of the neck.  Then one of the other members of the group was attacked.

There didn't seem to be any angry "bees" on the rocky river bar, but once we left the open space to reach the Scotch broom-infested section, I got nailed again on the hand and another member of the group was also stung. Charly, one of the Land Trust's representatives bravely returned to the truck for Benadryl in case any of us had an allergic reaction. I happen to be severely allergic to honeybee stings, not so much so yellowjackets. Nevertheless I'll be miserable for the next few days before my skin turns black and peels off in great thick sheets.

With the Scotch broom heavily guarded by killer yellowjackets, we readjusted our priority to pulling Spotted Knapweed and Tansy Ragwort from the safer shingle. After about two and a half hours of extracting invasives, we all zipped ourselves snugly into our raingear, leaving as little skin exposed as possible, and beat a very hasty retreat up the embankment via a slightly different route. No one was stung on exit.

At this point, one member of the group left us. The three Land Trust representatives and I went to a different site where we spent the next four hours with the weed wrenches, gleefully pulling Scotch broom. I now have in enough hours for a special award which will be handed out at the annual picnic next month. Who says it's not about the numbers?

Skunk's New Couch

Day 316: This is Skunk's new couch. It is not my new couch. I have been granted permission to sit on it once, and grudgingly. One does not inconvenience cats in this household, and with possession firmly established by virtue of occupancy, the very thought of removing a pillow and settling down on one corner of a cushion is unthinkable. It would tilt Her Majesty in repose, and that would never do.

Besides functioning as a bed for the Queen of the household, it is also her playground. The firm cushions are ideal for chasing your tail, and the soft pillows can be dived under and scrunched up against the arms. It sounds like someone beating carpet when she's bouncing around, but invariably when silence again reigns supreme, I look over, and this is what I see.

And It's Not Even September!

Day 315: For forty years or more, it has been my custom to have an annual bath in clear, cold water; a spiritual renewal, washing off "the dross of humanity," as I put it to friends. This ritual is generally performed in September, and may be conducted in an alpine tarn or in a pool in a mountain stream. On occasion, it has been done when pats of ice could be found floating on the surface or when fingers of snow reached across the meadows to the water. This process is generally prolonged until I start to feel the first touches of hypothermia creeping into my core, a call I have learned to make reliably. I go in naked as the day I was born, and emerge refreshed and invigorated (if cold), and because I prefer to drip-dry in the sun, these locations have to be very carefully selected. (I dressed for the photo, by the way.)

A couple of years ago, I was detailed to find a "lost" hydroelectric dam (defunct) in Mount Rainier National Park so that it could be removed from the Federal Register of dams. No one knew exactly where it was, and the vague directions I was given proved to be rather far off base, but given my eye for natural vs. altered forest, I was able to track it down. While there, I noticed that the catchment behind it looked like a good spot for my annual immersion, and I mentally bookmarked it for future reference.

The river you see here is glacial, literally. It is fed by meltwater from one of the Mountain's named glaciers. It has not travelled very far to reach this point, and therefore has not warmed much in transit. I made my way out to a three-foot deep pool without once cursing (rather amazing, that), submerged myself up to the neck and threw handsful of water into my hair. Two more trips were necessary in order to get a suitable self-portrait. I'd saved my britches out to put on for warmth in case I got too chilled, but as the afternoon warmed up, the wet shirt felt really good against my back. It was still damp when I got back to the car. Maybe only mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the noonday sun, but only Crows and polar bears go paddling in waters such as these!

Caching Partners

Day 314: After helping me by transporting a couch, a dresser and five wooden chairs from my fishing buddy's daughter's home to mine, my caching partner Dan and I took off for the woods, GPS receivers in hand. After a delightful foray into the subalpine reaches for a hide which had only one prior finder in two years, we descended to the hidden waterfall I visited just a few weeks ago. I felt Dan needed to experience some of the frustration I felt as I poked and probed until I finally located a small tube with a paper log sheet inside, waiting for my signature. Not wishing to be unduly cruel, I gave him a little information to tighten his seach: "You're within ten feet of the cache. It's not at ground level and it's below head-height," and then stepped back to watch him repeatedly put his hand in the hole where the prize lay hidden without discovering it. "You were warm a minute ago. Now you're cold. Nope, getting colder." Again, his hand went in the hole. Finally, I began to wonder if I had misremembered. While he was searching elsewhere, I put my hand inside and poked around in the dirt and mud. Yep, it was there. I gave him a little more encouragement and at last, his fingers felt the smooth sides of the container in the goo. Luckily, the waterfall was nearby for a quick rinse.

After making this find, we went on to Packwood where a purportedly simple cache eluded us. With two pairs of eyes searching, a 1.5 star micro failed to come to light in 20 minutes of intense survey over seemingly bare ground. Win some, lose some...and in caching, sometimes the most difficult hides fall more easily than those rated at "beginner" level. Three for me today, and eight or nine for Dan, who was covering new ground.

Shellfish Barge

Day 313: Today I had occasion to go on a nature walk on the Nisqually Land Trust's Hogum Bay property. While most of this holding is forested, it does include a "pocket marsh" and miniature estuary which drain into Puget Sound. Much of our time was spent on the beach where only a stone's throw away, we could see several of the shellfish barges owned by the adjacent processing plant. Evidence of the success of this type of "farming" was apparent all over our beach where mussel, clam and oyster shells lay in a thick carpet. Overhead, an eagle was searching for leftovers, and in the bay, several harbour seals could be seen paddling about. I was surprised, however, at the lack of sea birds and other wildlife on this occasion. Other than one shorebird skittering along the beach, the eagle was the only bird I observed.

Dipping The Ocean Dry...

Day 312: Several circumstances led to this unscheduled solo work party, the first being that I had an appointment in Eatonville this morning. On my way down, I said to myself, "Maybe I should swing by Ohop to see if the Mad Tire Bomber has left me any more presents."

A little further down the road, I began thinking about a Park project, entirely unrelated and two weeks off, involving removal of small alders from the roadside. I would be working with a crew of ten or more, and the call had already gone out for extra tools such as lopping shears. I had a pair I intended to bring, and was thinking along the lines of trying to round up a couple of weed wrenches when a second idea hit me. "If I stopped at the hardware store and bought another pair of loppers, I could cut some blackberries when I get down to Ohop."

You see the Plan emerging, don't you? By purchasing a second pair of loppers, I'd have two to loan to the Park project, plus I could put in some extra time for the Land Trust after my appointment.

A pair of heavy-duty loppers with telescoping handles struck my fancy. The price was right. I laid my money down and after my appointment, spent two hours giving them an introduction to what it means to work under my command. The two of us (Crow and loppers) cleared a patch about 10' x 15', allowing one tree a little breathing room even though in the overview, it looks like an attempt to dip the ocean dry with a teaspoon.

The upshot of this day's work was unexpected. In turning in my report on the labor performed, I happened to mention the upcoming Park project. The Land Trust volunteered their stock of weed wrenches for our use!

Boom Box

Day 311: I've featured this sign or one of its several companions a few times, but every time I see it I either think of Angry Birds or wonder how many of my readers could find something similar even if it did happen to be behind a fence (which this obviously is not). I also can't imagine anyone with a camera stumbling into proximity and failing to take a photograph. It's certainly not an everyday sight and definitely trumps cute little squirrels and chipmunks, although I have been known to crawl around on my hands and knees behind it, examining lichens. To the best of my knowledge, there have been no mishaps associated with the "boom box" in the distance, and I'm sure the healthiness of the surrounding forest is a testament to the relative safety of the area. Still, a measure of precaution is prudent when entering these woods, so don't be making campfires in unapproved locations unless you like your marshmallows toasted very dark.

Shirley Poppy

Day 310: Shirley Poppies are your grandmother's poppy. Smaller than Oriental Poppies and with a much wider color range, they are easy to grow and will reseed themselves freely if your kids don't pick all the "pepper shakers" at season's end. They come in both single and double varieties (single shown here). This old-fashioned flower is guaranteed to brighten any scatter-garden. Heck, I don't even mind that some of mine are pink.

The Dubious Legend

Day 309: The authenticity of this purported "legend" is very much in doubt, but it is a charming story and bears repeating...with an appropriate disclaimer, of course. This much, however, is true. The bark of the Douglas Fir is very thick, a feature which allows it to survive forest fires which obliterate more vulnerable species. That information is critical to the tale which follows.

You see, there was a massive fire many years ago, a fire which swept through the lush forests of the Pacific Northwest. Fearing for their lives, the animals ran to the chief of all the evergreens for aid. "Douglas Fir! Douglas Fir!" the elk cried. "Can you save us? We are afraid! Protect us, because you alone can survive the fearsome fire!"

Douglas Fir told the elk, "You elk, you can come into my cones. There I will be able to protect you." The elk squeezed into Douglas Fir's cones, leaving the imprint of their hooves on the interior of the scales.

The fire burned more fiercely, and the mice ran to the father of the forest. "Douglas Fir! Douglas Fir! The fire is coming nearer! We are going to die unless you help us!"

Douglas Fir told the mice, "I have the elk inside my cones already, but you are welcome to try to fit in."

The mice squeezed and squeaked, but just as Douglas Fir had said, there was very little room. The mice managed to get their heads inside, but they left their bottoms and tails sticking out. You can see them if you pick up a Douglas Fir cone, and if you open it, you'll see the elk prints inside.

Spiny-Ray Day

Day 308: Today, ladies and gentlemen, my goal was to find out if the south end of Lake Kapowsin was as fishy as I've always suspected it would be. The fact that I had to get there by kayak made it even better, although Kapowsin is known for its multitudinous "mines," stumps which hide under mere inches of dark water, making the lake difficult to navigate even under paddle power. I got stuck once, briefly, and grazed several others. That said, fortune favours the bold, and when I reached the weedy shallows and lily pads, a few trial casts brought this nice-sized bluegill to the hook. It turned out to be the biggest of nine "sunfish" (that's what we called them when I was a kid). As a bonus, the lake served up an additional two perch, four smallmouth bass and one largemouth. It was a Spiny-Ray Day for sure, with a seven-mile paddle thrown in. Now that's the kind of day you can say getting out of bed was worth it!

Sundew Sentinel

Day 307: Far less aggressive now than they were during nesting season, the Canada Geese are still a hazard to be respected. As I approached Sundew Island yesterday, I noticed a dozen or more lined up along a floating log, just a body-width apart from one another. I navigated around them cautiously, only to find another six in position on a second log parallel to the first and about 30 feet away. They didn't seem particularly concerned by my approach, but I still proceeded slowly and cautiously into tight quarters to check on the Sundews. The last thing I wanted was to be mobbed by the flock! One by one, they went back to their various occupations: preening, stretching, or tucking a head in under a wing for a nap. I went about my business unmolested, I think much to the disappointment of two people who were watching from shore.

From Calm To Tempest In 30 Seconds Flat

Day 306: There I was, casting among the lily pads, gleefully pulling trout out of Lake St. Clair when something tapped me on the head. And then it did it again. And again, which made me discard the theory that it was a confused dragonfly. That was when I noticed the pocking occurring on the surface of the lake, just a pip here and there. As quickly as I chuckled "Pitter-patter!" in acknowledgement of Mother Nature's sense of whimsy, the patter turned to clatter, soaking my shoulders and legs with a warm downpour. I looked up to see one lone grey-bottomed cloud directly overhead, one crabby weather-wether fussing among an otherwise contented flock of white sheep pasturing in a field of blue. Ten minutes later, the squall was over, and I was drying in the sun, another fish on the line.

Today's Haul

Day 305: It's been eleven days since I last patrolled my Site Steward's beat in Ohop Valley. On July 20, I pulled out seven tires and a large bag of beer cans and other assorted litter. When I worked on the blackberry-cutting party two days ago, I noticed some new litter alongside the road. Expecting to pick up a few cans and some paper, I stopped by the site again today. Two hours later, I had gathered another seven tires and a bag of litter, and had had help dragging a roll of carpet pad out to a more convenient location. I "centralized" the tires for later pickup by a Land Trust crew who will dispose of them properly.