Wrongside Up Larry

Day 322: Okay, okay...I admit it. I'm being unduly hard on Wrongside Up Larry. In fact, I even assigned him to the wrong agency. He really is a nice guy, and he's with the U.S. Forest Service. He's from Pennsylvania, and his tour of duty here is almost up. His preference for upside-down maps was backed up today by Fred, a USFS Safety Officer who also prefers to orient his map to the terrain. As I said yesterday, the camps are just about equally divided on this subject, and I just happen to be in the one which allows you to read the text without having to keep flipping the paper copy around.

They haven't done an infrared flight since before our windstorm, so the estimate of involved acreage still stands at 275. That said, those of us who have been watching the fire on a daily basis can see that it has progressed into the next drainage to the south. This is exactly what they want it to do: burn across the inaccessible terrain until it reaches an established firebreak where it can be managed. While you might think that they would have been happy for the recent rain and high humidity, the opposite is true. Rain and humidity aren't enough to put it out, and are only acting to keep it burning without allowing it to advance toward their dozer lines. I'm learning a lot about fire management from talking to these men, and that includes Larry, even if we do disagree about maps.

As Sown, So Reaped

Day 321 (see below for fire update): They think they're being naughty, those Steller's Jays, and won't let me catch a photo of them gobbling down sunflower seeds as fast as they can peck them free of the heads. However, I did not plant these. They did, and therefore I acknowledge that the harvest is theirs to reap.

Yesterday's rain knocked the 7-foot Cosmos jungle over, but with prudent forethought, I had staked the sunflowers. I was a little surprised they didn't topple, because the weight of a head this size is pretty substantial even with half of the seeds missing, but other than leaning a bit, the wrist-size stalk held the plants erect. Most of the plants are smaller and have multiple heads, but even so, they hold a decent supply of seeds and are sturdy enough to support a pair of Jays bent on having a hearty lunch simultaneously.

With some regrets, I pulled and discarded the Cosmos in order to clear my walkway. If the sunflowers had gone over, I'd have cut the heads and laid them out on the crow board. Maybe the Jays would have let me catch them in action if I'd spread the feast in one of their familiar haunts. Still, we all know that "forbidden" foods are the tastiest, and so far, I've been successful in keeping them off the grapes.

Moving Up Stahl

Day 321, Fire Update: Wrongside Up Larry from DNR was back today, fortunately accompanied by David, a more communicative representative of USFS who, when he saw me trying to configure my head to the upside-down map, provided me with a hand-held copy he retrieved from his truck. He said, "It's about 50-50," referring to the number of people who want the map oriented to the terrain instead of "north up." I think a poll by profession would show that about 50% work in map-dependent fields. Larry, for all of his current employment, clearly belongs in the other half.

The fire has not increased in acreage since yesterday, despite the strong winds which kept fire crews in camp all day yesterday. It was simply too dangerous to be in the field. David explained that during an on-site discussion of potential hazards, a gust passed through and took down forty or fifty fire-damaged trees in one great crash, effectively ending any debate. Three-quarters of an inch of rain has at least cleared some of the particulates out of the air, but the fire continues to advance along the ground, leaving burned-out zones behind it. One professional projection says that it is likely to increase to 700-800 acres before it reaches a line where it can be controlled. Wrongside Up Larry said, "Maybe even 4000." Of course his credibility is somewhat suspect as far as I am concerned.

For now, the fire is creeping slowly up the side of Stahl Mtn. (photo) and southeast toward Pleasant Valley. One new hot spot has been reported on the western flank.

Wind Complications

Day 320: The high winds the firefighters were hoping to avoid have arrived. I drove through flying leaves and down roads littered with fallen branches this morning en route to Reliance, there to find the smoke from all but the most active areas blown away. While it makes for a clearer photo, this is not good news. Our little piddle of overnight rain wouldn't sustain a Chihuahua more than 24 hours, and ground fuels are tinder-dry, ready to ignite at the touch of a wind-blown spark.

The Alder Lake Fire now stands at 275 acres. The USFS and DNR have a total of 157 personnel on the incident, and their objective is to hold the progression of the fire on the 79 Road. Quoting from the latest bulletin, the "primary objective is to stop and hold eastward spread of the fire. The fire has been steadily growing to the east, west, and north." Another section of the bulletin states, "Growth continued on west and south sides of the fire." That pretty much covers all the cardinal points of the compass, no? From my observation, growth to the north is minimal, so maybe Wrongside Up Larry was reading the map for one of these reports. In any event, projected activity predicts, "Moderate fire behavior with +20 acres growth." On the map, note the new hot spot east of the main fire (closer to Pleasant Valley)...and that's if the winds die down.

Ten Percent Containment

Day 319: Today's update from InciWeb shows the Alder Lake Fire at 10% containment. What exactly does that mean? Does it mean they have it under control? Does it mean it's 10% out? No, and no. It means that they have created firebreaks around ten percent of the involved area, i.e., crews have removed fuels and cleared roads to a width which they expect will stop further spread of the fire across those lines when it burns to meet them.

The fire is currently most active in inaccessible terrain with a 60% slope and is moving south toward Pleasant Valley (to the left in the center bottom image). However, new hot spots (night shot) have also appeared to the west, but northward progress toward the lake is being held from entering second growth at the 74 Road (lower edge of the smoke line in the center bottom photo). If you're a map-reader, compare the two maps to see how rugged the terrain is. Today, the guys greeted me with, "The maps are still rightside up!" I was glad to see it.

I stayed on site for about an hour and a half last night, watching the west end's hot spots flare and dwindle, trying to capture an "exciting" photo for my readers. For all else it does, my Canon SX30 IS falls down when it comes to taking low-light images. Even at ISO 400, the grain is intolerable.

The forecast rain has not yet appeared on the scene. I had less than 15 seconds of light mist early this morning, and precisely two raindrops struck my windshield on a trip to and from town. Those firefighters need a lot more help than that from Mother Nature if they're going to have this one out before it reaches Pleasant Valley.

Better Communications

Day 318: Larry, the DNR mouthpiece mentioned in yesterday's post, was replaced today by Doug (DNR) and Mark (USFS), a wisecracking pair who were more informative than their predecessor, if not addressing me in quite the same "kindred spirit" as Christian had done. After a greeting from Mark of, "Hi, ma'am! Are you local?" to which I responded immediately with a laughing, "I sure wish you guys would turn that map 'north up,'" we got along famously. Mark responded to my complaint with a chuckle, "Yeah, I noticed that, too. I don't know why they did that," and went directly to the map, removing it from its staples and turning it up into the proper orientation. "Thank you!" I said. "I was getting sick to my stomach looking at it upside-down." "Me too," he agreed. I knew I was going to like this pair based entirely on that initial contact.

The men confirmed what I already knew: the fire grew by over fifty acres overnight, now at 225 and spreading steadily to the southeast and up the northeast flank of Stahl Mtn. The residents of Pleasant Valley have been put on Level 1 evacuation alert, a "get ready" status in case the smoke reaches hazardous concentrations or the fire spreads more quickly than anticipated. Level 2 would mean voluntary evacuation to a shelter or to be ready to evacuate at a moment's notice. Level 3 means mandatory evacuation. The town of Morton is currently prepared to shelter evacuees under either Level 2 or Level 3 alerts. There is less of an inversion today, so the breathability of the air here at home is substantially improved from last night when I was hacking and coughing every few minutes. As I have told friends, I will evacuate either when forced to by a Level 3 alert, or when breathing becomes too difficult.

In other news, we have heavy rain in our forecast starting Friday. This could be good for the fire, but bad with respect to the potential for creating debris flows like the one we had on Tahoma Creek just two weeks ago or flooding on major rivers. Fire, earthquake, debris flow, the possibility of flood...what's next? Foes or famine? Or maybe a plague of locusts? Seems we're running the whole gamut.

Buprestis Aurulenta, Golden Buprestid

Day 317: First an update on the Alder Lake Fire...Christian, the young firefighter who has been my point of contact for the last several days, was called back to the line and his position of providing public information was turned over to an older gentleman from the Dept. of Natural Resources. Despite the fact that I was delivering a large container of chocolate-chip cookies for the crew at Spike Camp, the rapport I'd built with Christian as a kindred spirit was notably absent in my dealings with the new man. He presented a by-the-numbers scenario meant to mollify the concerns of locals, and despite a few leading questions from me was not particularly forthcoming. That said, I know when the wool is being pulled over my eyes, and therefore I will give you my personal assessment of the fire rather than the "party line."

The size of the fire has been reevaluated following an infrared survey and now stands at 173 acres. It continues to move eastward and up the ridge. These are simple facts. Spike Camp is being pulled back to Pleasant Valley tonight, and the fire is going to be allowed to burn to the east over several ridges as crews put in one or more dozer lines 50-60 feet wide between Pleasant Valley and the first ridge west of it. According to the DNR representative, this has been deemed to be the most effective way of stopping the blaze, and in fact that may be true at this point. However, it also tells me that they have lost control of the eastward progression and are now falling back on one of the contingency plans Christian explained several days ago, a plan they had hoped to avoid using.

Now for today's nature lesson! I've always wondered what these beautiful metallic green beetles were called, so after photographing this one at Paradise day before yesterday, I did some research and then submitted the photo to BugGuide.net with a tentative identification which was confirmed by one of the staff entomologists. It is Buprestis aurulenta, aka Golden Buprestid (pronounced "boo-press-tid"), a type of wood-borer which feeds largely on dead or dying trees, and on other wood such as lumber. It leaves an oval hole behind as evidence of its visit. This particular specimen was large for the species, slightly over three-quarters of an inch long. My mother always called them "beauty bugs" which, I have to admit, is a lot easier to wrap your tongue around than "Buprestid."

183 Acres, Moving East And Up

Day 316: The Alder Lake Fire is now at 183 acres and spreading to the east and up the slopes of Stahl Mtn., a 3716' peak to the southwest of the town of Elbe. Christian, the young firefighter who has been my point of contact for the last several days, says that they have been given the go-ahead to put in a helipad in anticipation of air support. Poring over our mutual map collection, we determined that the spur roads on my ancient "Mount Baker-Snoqualmie National Forest" recreational map (now Gifford Pinchot National Forest) and 7.5' USGS topo were in fact on his topo after all, hidden under the hand-drawn felt-tip lines showing where the fire crew has punched in a line with bulldozers. The fire is presently being held at that line, and at the 74 Road on the bottom, although it is only a few hundred feet from second-growth timber on the west end. "Our guys are watching it very closely to keep it from breaching the road," he told me. Half an hour earlier, I'd watched a rollout in a gully which came dangerously close to that point.

Of more concern is the fact that it's sweeping up-slope toward Stahl. A new column of smoke on the east end (obscured by lower smoke in this photo) seemed quite active. The columns indicate where there is a consolidation of fuel; in fact, the fire is creeping along the ground beneath the canopy and only sends up a "smoke-signal" when it hits a concentration. While talking with Christian and his crewman, I had an ear to radio conversations. "Fire behaviour is increasing in the upper east corner. We're going to have to pull our guys out of there pretty quick." In the background, the growl of bulldozers and crack of falling snags echoed across the placid lake. A spotter plane flew close along the eastern margin of the blaze, circled around for a second pass.

I asked Christian, "Aren't you about due to go back on the line?" He told me he'd be down for a few more days. "They like what I'm doing here, and I like teaching people, but yeah, I'll be going back up pretty soon." I fought down a mothering instinct I didn't know I had and stopped short of hugging him. "Good luck," I said. "Good luck."

Not Good At All

Day 315: Let's start the day off with a bang...literally. At 7:33 AM, I heard a loud growling rumble which I initially thought was an earthquake. A minor rattling accompanied it, more like a reverberation than a shake. It was over in just a few seconds, causing me to re-evaluate my supposition, and upon review, I decided it had been an explosion, and of course I immediately associated it with the Alder Lake Fire. As I sat down to compose an email, I thought, "Maybe I ought to check the Pacific Northwest Seismic Network before I draw any conclusions," and lo and behold! There it was, a 2.9 quake, epicentered only a few miles from my home. Never a dull moment around here!

After putting in a full day at work, I decided to swing by Lillie Dale Road to check on the fire, and there discovered the same young firefighter standing duty by his truck and talking to a crowd of onlookers. He greeted me with a "Howdy, stranger!" and immediately took me aside to explain the fire situation in more detail. I was dismayed to learn that it is progressing eastward, and that it has now spread to 150 acres. The good news is that the Dept. of Natural Resources has now joined the fight since the blaze has crossed over into DNR land.

As my erstwhile "interpretive guide" ran his finger across the map, showing me where crews were actively working and where he had gone in on foot to scout a possible firebreak, I noticed a difference between his map and mine. "What about this ridge? Isn't there a spur road going out it? It comes to a T right along here." I traced the ridgeline for him. "Are you sure?" he asked. I replied, "Yeah, I have it on the old Gifford Pinchot map." He paused for a second before responding, "I'd like to see that map. Could you bring it down tomorrow?" I said I'd be glad to do so.

There's a reason I'm known to several friends as "Mapping Crow," a play on my geocaching moniker. I find maps more fascinating reading than any work of literature I ever held in my hands.Could it be that my map shows something they need to know? I double-checked when I got home. There it is, a short spur which T's off into the 017 and 015 along the crest of the ridge. I'll have my map in his hands at 8 AM tomorrow when he resumes his watch.

"We're Getting Our Butts Kicked Up There"

Day 314: "We're getting our butts kicked up there." The young crewman taking a break after nine straight days on the Alder Lake Fire explained to me in detail the logistics and contingency plans in place, indicating on the topo map specific problem areas, attack routes and established fire lines when he realized I was no stranger to map-reading. Now at 110 acres and still spreading, one of the primary issues in fighting this blaze is the steep terrain. "No dozer wants to go in there," he said. "We're hand-digging the line." Yesterday a snag came down unexpectedly, missing one of the crew by a scant three feet. You can't move out of the way quickly when you're fighting for every foothold, encumbered by heavy protective clothing and equipment.

Earlier this morning, a wind from the east carried the fire westward. As the day warmed, it shifted back to come from the west, blowing the flames east again. The fire has gone into second-growth on the back side of the ridge as well, but the crew has cleared a break, following a disused spur off the 7409. A contingency containment plan outlines creating a "big box" scenario, back-burning lines both to the east and to the west, effectively walling the fire within the confines of fuel-free boundaries. That means the smoke is likely to get worse before it gets better unless the present inversion lifts.

The top photo was taken today, the bottom one just four days ago. That's not fog, not cloud blanketing the foothills. Those peaks are shrouded in smoke, smoke which is drifting up-valley so thickly that I can't see half a mile from home. The Alder Lake smoke coupled with that of the eastern Washington fires obscures the views from high points like Paradise and Sunrise in Mount Rainier National Park. Even at Longmire, it's almost impossible to see the Mountain.

It's going to take more than a sprinkle of rain, more than a few days before Smokey Bear's sign drops from "Extreme" to "High." It's going to take a flood-generating downpour before the Bear can relax under the placid green of "Low." For now, old firefighters are "coming out of the woodwork," the young crewman told me, taking their pack tests, getting their Red Cards, leaving comfortable retirements in an attempt to do the job Nature seems reluctant to do: put out the fires which are ravaging our state.

Not Good News

Day 313: I have only the evidence before my eyes to convince me that there is no good news regarding the Alder Lake Fire. The Forest Service has not released a bulletin since yesterday, but it is obvious to me that the involved area has spread toward the east (left side of the photo). The smoke column at that end was quite active, and as I stood watching, I heard the crack and explosion of a large tree falling, taking out more timber as it went down. The smoke is so thick here at home that I can barely make out the outline of the first ridge between me and the Mountain, a mere two miles away. I'm coughing, sneezing, my eyes are watering, and my breathing is affected. Even my neighbor's house has a pall of smoke surrounding it. From Elbe, the view west down the length of Alder Lake is like looking through the heavy fog of an October morning. The ridgetops and valleys are filled with clouds of smoke holding close to ground. Fine ash drifted down in the air on my vantage point near old Reliance, a spot now popular with locals and visitors alike (and undoubtedly much to the frustration of the people who live at the blind end of the formerly peacefully rural Lillie Dale Road). With no rain in the forecast for at least ten days and fire crews engaged on the larger, more threatening fires in eastern Washington, I fear that good news regarding the Alder Lake Fire may be painfully slow in coming.

60 Acres And Growing

Day 312: Overnight, the Alder Lake Fire increased in size to sixty acres, spreading to the southeast. Today as I stood on the shore of the lake near the site of the former community of Reliance, I could hear the ground crews at work with chainsaws, the whining burr of their blades occasionally punctuated with the crack of a tree falling to earth. As gaps appeared in the smoke, I could see where individual trees had torched, their needles brown but hanging on, as is often the case with Douglas fir. These are old trees, 200' tall in many cases, with boughs only on their upper portions. Beneath them, an understory of brush ignites quickly and the fire moves on.

Doug fir has an amazing capacity for surviving fire. The bark on a 200' tree may be four to six inches thick, as insulated against flame as a living thing can be. In fact, fire contributes to the health of a Doug fir forest by removing the competitive understory. As contradictory as the idea might seem on the face of it, lightning-caused fires play a significant role in keeping our state's famous evergreens growing strongly. Fire, timber interests aside, can be beneficial in the long term, both for the woods and for wildlife as old material burns out and newer, less competitive browse springs up in its wake. It's part of Nature, even though we don't want to see it in our neighborhood.

Extreme Danger

Day 311: Tonight, the Alder Lake Fire continues in its ninth day of burning. To my eye and to the eye of my next-door neighbor, it appears to have spread up the ridge. I'll take his word for it. He was a wildland firefighter with the Department of Natural Resources for over twenty years. As we stood watching today from a vantage point on Lillie Dale Road, we could see debris rollout tumbling down a gully in tall timber, igniting the understory but not the trees themselves. "That's old growth," he told me. "Those trees don't have branches down low where the fire is. Now if it gets into that second growth, they're going to have a real problem on their hands."

I wondered why they weren't attacking from the air until reminded that there are bigger fires all across the state. This fire is small potatoes, although my neighbor explained that it's a dangerous fire because of the limits placed on the crews by terrain. He'd know. He was an Engine Leader, responsible for the safety of his team. Some years ago, he was sent out to New Mexico to help fight a major fire. He was gone two weeks, and not a day went by that I didn't wonder if he was safe. Yesterday, three firefighters lost their lives here in Washington, battling a blaze in the Twisp/Winthrop area on the east side. I am grateful that my neighbor retired from DNR, or he might well have been on the front lines.

Smokey Bear, standing in front of Rocky Point Campground, warns that fire danger is "extreme." As I sit here looking out my window at a pasture full of chest-high, dry grass and timber-covered hills behind it, I shiver. It only takes one lightning strike, or one idiot with a carelessly-tossed cigarette, and with the way the weather's been behaving, we're probably a month from a good, hard rain.

Alder Lake Fire

Day 310: The Alder Lake Fire started with a lightning strike on Tuesday, August 11, and continues to burn tonight, involving approximately 37 acres of timber. A USDA fire crew of 79 personnel with two bulldozers and three engines are working to contain it, and to clear disused spur roads in order to gain better access to the affected area. The latest bulletin describes it as, "Moderate fire behavior, creeping, rolling, and occasional torching. In steep rugged terrain that is inaccessible and has 60% slope." It goes on to say that, "Crews are making great progress, preparing indirect line on the east side with water." No air support has been brought in as it was for the Elbe Hills Fire in 2012. Smoke is drifting roughly southeast at the present time.

A Unkind Name

Day 309: Today, I bring you a plant which has been given a raw deal by those who handed out common names, however appropriate that name might be. I prefer to call it simply Eriogonum (generic shorthand for its taxonomy, Eriogonum pyrolifolium), or by the less-popular appellation of Alpine Buckwheat, either of which affords it a tiny little bit of dignity among its peers in the plant kingdom. In fact, its scientific name reflects a physical aspect which sometimes also serves as an uncommon common name: Pyrola-leaved Buckwheat. Even that would do. But no, that's not what you'll hear this little creamy flower called. Rangers, naturalists and visitors alike refer to it "Dirty Socks," reflecting its distinctive scent. "Dirty Socks," indeed! That's not nice at all.

Grass-of-Parnassus, Parnassia Fimbriata

Day 308: Strikingly beautiful and lace-like when observed closely, Grass-of-Parnassus is not a grass at all, but a member of the Saxifrage family. It was first described by Dioscorides, a Greek botanist, as found growing on the slopes of Mt. Parnassus but how its kidney-shaped leaves could have been called "grasslike" is a mystery we may never solve. It is a plant of springs and seeps, preferring to have its roots cool and damp. Thus, its specialized growing requirements limit its range. When it flourishes, it may line a streambank profusely, but only in a narrow band along the margins of the flow.

The species may be found in Mount Rainier National Park if you know where to look. A friend recently reported it to me along the 4th Crossing Trail, so today I set out to find it. My uniform and the camera around my neck often draw questions from visitors, so much of my afternoon was spent in interpretive discussion of Parnassia and other less common plant species in the Park. About two dozen people now know more about Grass-of-Parnassus than they did when they left home this morning. I love my job!

Trail Encounter

Day 307: While hiking out of Sunrise yesterday, a call came over my radio that a bear cub had been sighted in Berkeley Park with the mother nowhere to be seen. People in the area were advised to give it a wide berth and to be on the lookout for mom. Bears in the Park are not normally aggressive, but a sow protecting her offspring is another story. Getting between mama and a cub is not a good idea! Since I was only planning to go as far as Lodi Creek (the point at which the trail takes a bend after descending from the intersection with the Skyscraper Pass trail), I figured there was no chance I'd encounter the bear. Berkeley was a mile or so beyond my projected turn-around point, and the likelihood of a bear covering that distance in the span of time it would take me to reach the creek was minimal. In fact, I did not see a bear en route to the creek. I found it on my return, approximately half a mile above Lodi Corner. Given time and distance, I suspect this was a second cub, and (s)he was thoroughly engrossed in eating wildflowers as I approached.

It has to be said that I have had more bear encounters in the Berkeley Park area than anywhere else in the Park. Several years ago, I rounded a cluster of trees and was startled to see a sow about 50 feet away (as near as I'd ever been to a bear in the wild), chomping on a mouthful of plants. This little cub was somewhat closer than that. I spoke in a normal tone of voice to alert him/her to my presence. (S)he looked toward me and went back to eating. I put in a radio call so that rangers above me could warn any other hikers entering the area that a cub had been sighted (but not mama), and as I moved slowly forward, the youngster showed a little more curiosity about me, raising his/her head and taking a few steps in my direction, acting as if (s)he might approach me more closely for a sniff. I said firmly, "I don't think you want to do that, bear," and took a few more steps toward the cub. It rewarded me by turning its head away and grudgingly moving to concealment behind a rock. I passed without event, eyes scanning both sides of the trail for any sign of mom.

I later learned that visitors had reported seeing an adult bear near Skyscraper Pass in the morning, but the Sunrise rangers believe that the mother has cut the apron strings and that the cub(s) are now on their own, "learning how to be bears." Had she been in the area, the sow's maternal instincts might have kicked into gear if she'd seen me as a threat to her offspring, but for today, it was just Cubby and I, both enjoying a cool walk in the subalpine meadows above Berkeley Park.

Blackwork

Day 306: Forgive the hasty post today. It comes through a small hole in a busy agenda. Some days are like that, hard to find a moment to write, let alone take a photograph, but I haven't missed a one in almost five years and don't intend to let that record fall.

Closely akin to counted cross-stitch, modern blackwork embroidery is generally done on canvas or scrim (fabric to be removed after the stitching is complete). In mediaeval times, counted-thread canvas was not available, and thus the needleworker spaced the stitches by eye, and skill was measured by the uniformity of the work. The blackwork was often quite elaborate and extensive, covering large areas of a garment with tiny, delicate stitchery, the detail of which could only be seen close up. Such fine work is seldom seen today, as most embroidery is done on 14-22 count canvas, huge by comparison to the weave of the linens of yesteryear.

Tahoma Creek

Day 305: And now for the official release concerning yesterday's event, with two views of the creek taken from the main Park road on my way home tonight. As you can see, it is still quite muddy and turbulent. In the upstream view, you can see new deposition of silt on the left side of the image.

Glacial Outburst Flood and Debris Flow Occurs at Mount Rainier National Park

Westside Road Temporarily Closed Through the Weekend

A glacial outburst flood and debris flow occurred at Tahoma Creek in Mount Rainier National Park on Thursday, August 13, 2015 beginning at approximately 9:40 am. The glacial outburst flood originated from the South Tahoma Glacier as a 0.5 acre portion of the terminus of the glacier broke off and quickly released water stored in the glacier.

The outburst flood event was first reported by a park volunteer who was working near Tahoma Creek on an unrelated research project. The volunteer heard a loud roaring sound, followed by the sounds of water moving boulders and the cracks of breaking trees. As the debris flow from the initial outburst crossed the Westside Road, the volunteer hiked to higher ground. Another volunteer at Indian Henry’s Hunting Ground also heard the loud roar coming from the direction of the South Tahoma Glacier and hiked to a safe location near the suspension bridge over Tahoma Creek to report on subsequent outburst surges.

The debris flows was also recorded by seismic monitoring equipment at Emerald Ridge in Mount Rainier National Park at 9:40 am, 10:30 am, 11:30 am and 12:40 pm. The largest event was recorded at 11:30 am and generated a debris flow that reached the Westside Road at approximately 12:00 p.m.

Mount Rainier Park rangers and geologists responded quickly contacting park visitors in the area and assisting them across the area impacted by the debris flow. A Hughes MD530 helicopter from Northwest Helicopters assisted the park with two reconnaissance flights to look for park visitors hiking in the area, check the condition of the trail for possible washouts, and check the South Tahoma Glacier for possible additional outburst geologic hazards. All of the park visitors in the area were accounted for by Thursday evening, but park staff will continue to monitor visitor use in the area.

Some damage to Mount Rainier’s Westside Road was reported on Thursday. The Westside Road will be closed at least through the weekend as the park continues to monitor Tahoma Creek and assess damage to the road and area trails.

“This most recent glacial outburst and debris flow demonstrates again that Mount Rainier is a dynamic landscape,” said Randy King, Mount Rainier Superintendent. “Visitors should be aware of their surroundings when traveling in the park. Remember to remain alert for changes in water levels, unusual sounds or shaking of the ground. If you are near a river or stream, move quickly to higher ground.”

About seven waves of debris flow occurred on Thursday afternoon and evening. As the outburst flood moved down valley, it carried sediment, rocks, and uprooted trees and deposited the debris within the Tahoma Creek valley near Mount Wow in Mount Rainier National Park. A stream gage on the Nisqually River at National registered the 0.5 foot river rise on Thursday afternoon. The debris flow had no impact to properties outside of Mount Rainier National Park.

A glacial outburst flood is a large, abrupt release of water from a glacier. The exact mechanisms through which water moves through glaciers and how these events occur are not well known. Geologists report that stagnant and slow moving ice on the lower part of the glacier combined with faster moving ice on the upper glacier, have been associated with these events in the past.

Since 1985, over 30 debris flows have occurred in the Tahoma Creek valley. Glacial outburst floods from the South Tahoma Glacier during hot, dry weather caused most of the debris flows, but heavy rainstorms in the fall caused several others.

Today's Event

Day 304: This is one of my favourite maps. It was published by the USGS in 1973 and is entitled, "Potential Hazards from Future Eruptions of Mount Rainier, Washington" and covers all the possibilities from flood, mudflow, avalanche and/or tephra (airborne volcanic rock debris). The whole of the upper Nisqually Valley lies in the red and orange zones (areas of highest risk). That's why we get a little nervous around here when the earth shakes, or we hear rumblings on the Mountain.

There's a reason I selected this particular section of the map. Tahoma Creek (labelled just above the more obvious "Satulick Mountain") has turned loose a number of small "outburst floods" over the years, including one which wiped out a large section of the Tahoma Creek Trail and portions of the Westside Road. For this and other reasons, the Park decided to close Westside Road three miles in at Dry Creek. The road is still passable, and official vehicles are allowed beyond the closure, although they must be high-clearance rigs in order to navigate a number of rough washouts and a side stream.

Today, there was an "event" in Tahoma Creek. An outburst flood occurred somewhere up-valley, and the first we heard of it was when a report of a mudflow crossing Westside Road came over the radio. The person reporting the event was on the far side, and took the sensible precaution of moving to higher ground, roughly somewhere between the first W in "Mount Wow" and the M in "Satulick Mountain." She reported a noise like "a couple of helicopters" growing louder and louder as the river swelled and blustered its way over rocks and through forest. By the time the rumbling had subsided, rangers and geologists were on the way to investigate, and to try to locate any hikers who might have been in the area at the time.

I did not find out until a few hours later that the person reporting the event was our intern, Yonit. When she showed up at the office, she was rather visibly shaken but excited to relate the circumstances to us. Later, she showed photos she had taken with her phone of the water and mud breaching the road, and how it had undermined the pavement. She had been escorted to safety by the rangers even as the geologists went up in a helicopter to study the site.

When Kevin and I drove out tonight, Tahoma Creek was still flowing with some ferocity, and as thick as whipping cream with silt and mud. Westside Road has been gated off at the entrance. As outburst floods go, this was minor in terms of resource damage, but as temperatures remain in the 80s and glacial ice melts, the potential is there for more or larger events to occur. The red zone is real. I'm in it, and with full realization of the fact.

Hollyhocks In The Forecast

Day 303: When I moved into my home, one of the first plants I wanted to add to my garden was Hollyhocks, the single variety with the saucerlike, open-faced flowers. Seeds weren't easy to find. Seed companies offered doubles in many colors, but singles were a rarity. I would have been willing to settle for any shade (even pink!), but in a stroke of great good fortune, what I found was a black-flowered type. I bought a packet, planted them that first spring, and settled in to wait the two years Hollyhocks require before putting on their first blooms. That was over 25 years ago, and every year, my black Hollyhocks have delighted me, growing somewhat wild and unmanaged (if perhaps not as abundantly as I'd hoped) against the south wall of the house.

Hollyhocks remind me of my grandmother. It was against the wall of her house facing a small-town alley that I first encountered them. Like mine, they were allowed the freedom to do as they would, forming clusters here, a solitary plant there, their bright faces always turned to the sun. But equally, I enjoyed them in the autumn when I would collect their unusual seed pods, cracking off the brittle husks to reveal the ring of "coins" inside. I would try to open them so that the circle of seeds remained intact; not an easy task, and one at which I seldom succeeded. As I gathered these today for sowing next year, my mind swept back to those blithe afternoons and I realized something in hindsight: my clumsy harvesting efforts were no doubt why my grandmother had so many Hollyhocks at the back of her house.

How Doth The Little Busy Bee

Day 302: I was too close for someone who is seriously allergic to their stings, but the Honey Bees had more important things on their minds than an interloper with a camera. Nevertheless, I get a little nervous when I step out on the back porch and these critters are working the sedum over. Still, with the Honey Bee population in decline, it makes me glad to see them in numbers and at their industry.

Years ago, my next-door neighbor had a hive in one of his exterior house walls. If you stood at a safe distance, you could see hundreds of them flying in and out, entering through a narrow gap between the boards under the eaves. He advised me to stay clear: "They get mad sometimes when I mow." I don't know that he ever destroyed the hive, so it's possible that my abundant population of bees comes from his house. In any event, if he ever tears that wall down, I want to be around for the honey.

Eight-Spotted Skimmer, Libellula Forensis

Day 301: A few days ago, I noticed an Eight-Spotted Skimmer perched on the tip of a stake in my garden. "Time to take a trip to Mineral," I said to myself. The public fishing area at Mineral Lake is one of the best spots around for observing this species, so rather than trying to chase down the specimen flitting nervously about my yard, I grasped the easier solution: I drove up to the lake where I found a dozen or so in the shrubbery at the water's edge. It's always nice when things go according to plan!

Chicory, Cichorium Intybus

Day 300: Chicory (Cichorium intybus) is an introduced species in North America and is considered invasive in some areas, it has not achieved a strong hold in western Washington and therefore has avoided being placed on the "hit list" of undesirable aliens. That means I can enjoy the cheer of its sky-blue flowers without any pangs of conscience, although I probably won't invite it into my yard. It can grow to four feet in height and prefers the disturbed, generally poor soils of playgrounds and vacant lots. The root can be roasted and used as a substitute for coffee, although taken straight, it is rather bitter.

Today's Puzzle - Marchantia Polymorpha, A Liverwort

Day 299: While I love to be able to track down the identity of a species in my field guides, I am equally pleased and dismayed when I cannot do so. I'm sure you'll understand why I'd be frustrated, but you might not immediately catch on to the logic involved in the enjoyment of defeat. "Why would anyone be happy they failed?" you wonder. Because, my dear readers, that failure affords an opportunity to learn.

I don't know what this lichen is. Several rosettes of it are growing in my north flowerbed, almost entirely shadowed by Hosta leaves. It hugs the ground closely. Its apothecial disks are open and some contain teeny-tiny spores or spore capsules reminiscent of those found in the Bird's-nest fungi (Nidulariales). Nothing, and I repeat, nothing in Brodo's 40-pound "Lichens of North America" resembles it, to the extent that I am at a loss to even place it in a family.

When I spotted it, my first thought was, "I've got to get a picture of that." Down on my elbows, I was able to get a better look, and noted its field characteristics before consulting Brodo for the first time. When I came up empty-handed, I resorted to stronger methods, i.e., I took a sample, cleaned it, photographed it under controlled conditions and examined it under a magnifier. With it enlarged on the computer screen, I again consulted Brodo. Nada. Not even close.

The final chapter in this story is waiting on a professional opinion. That was the next step: refer it to an expert. Maybe I missed something in that weighty field guide; maybe not. One way or another, I will learn from the experience and will be richer, not only for discovering the identity of this lichen, but for being shown points of identification I may or may not have overlooked.

Update: The mysterious "lichen" isn't a lichen at all. It's a thalloid liverwort, Marchantia polymorpha. I am grateful to Dr. Irwin Brodo, author of the 40-pound field guide to "Lichens of North America" for his personal response to my request for an identification.

What I mistook for apothecial disks are gemma cups. The "spore capsules" are gemmae, asexual propagules of the plant.

New NPS Brochure

Day 298 (bonus feature): This is a screen cap from one of our suppliers, straightened up a bit for your viewing pleasure. The first I heard about it was last night when Ian, our Centennial Ambassador, sent me a message saying, "Congratulations on your new celebrity" with this attached. The theory put forth by Kevin (my supervisor and close friend) was that DoI had been prowling the Park's Flickr pages for suitable photos because three of the images on the front of this new brochure are from Mount Rainier National Park. As a matter of fact, two of them are Kevin's, including the one top center. Do you recognize that face? Yep, that's me, one of the new "poster children" for volunteerism in National Parks!

Closet Whovian

Day 298: A couple of months ago, I caved in to peer pressure and started watching Doctor Who, beginning with the 2005 series. I had some background on the premise and wasn't sure how I was going to take to a show where the main character changed rather frequently, and grilled my friend Kevin as to whether or not subsequent actors were able to successfully portray enough personality traits to make it believable. On his assurance that I would "see" the Doctor in each regeneration and that the one villain I knew something about would recur, I decided to give it a go. I am happy to say the series did not disappoint. I liked Christopher Eccleston as the Doctor and had no trouble adjusting to David Tennant's assumption of the role. Best of all, there were Daleks: "Exterminate! Exterminate!"

Now this is quite a leap for an old Trekkie. Initially, I had a hard time believing that any series could hold a candle to Star Trek, but my other favourite (Farscape) proved to be a strong competitor for my loyalties. I liked the fact that Farscape's story was an on-going one, unlike Trek's stand-alone episodes. Many of the episodes of Doctor Who appear to be isolated stories, but subtle hints dropped here and there begin to stack up to a larger plot. I haven't quite pulled Farscape down from its pre-eminent position nor dropped ST:TNG below second place, but Doctor Who is definitely running a strong third. I will save judgment until I've survived another regeneration. For right now, I'll say that David Tennant's "slightly mad from having seen and done so much" Doctor will be hard to lose.

Woodland Skipper, Ochlodes Sylvanoides

Day 297: "Hey, Crow! What are those cute little orange and brown moths with the weird wings that are all over my dandelions?"

I hate to break it to you, but you're wrong on both counts.

In the first place, those foot-tall "lawn daisies" which plague our yards and shoot up stiff, tough stems from a basal rosette of leaves resembling harsh-textured velour are Cat's-ear (Hypochaeris radicata). In the second place, that ain't no moth. It's a butterfly. How can you tell? The easiest way is by looking for club-shaped tips on the antennae. Butterflies have them; moths have feathery antennae. However, this little fellow's wings don't seem to fit the familiar profile for either, and because he's fuzzy, many people mistake him for a moth. In fact, he's a Woodland Skipper, Ochlodes sylvanoides.

When in "alert mode" (i.e., preparing for take-off), many Skippers exhibit a distinctive wing position peculiar to the species. The hind wings are held flat and the forewings are held at an angle to the body. Imagine the Skipper in the photo with only its hind wings spread. At rest, the wings are folded as shown. The odd morphology allows Skippers to dart about and change direction quite quickly.

Having Skippers in my yard by the dozen isn't simply entertaining. It gives me the perfect excuse to leave the lawnmower in the garage. They really like the Cat's-ear, and who am I to deprive a cute little butterfly of a treat?

We Can Dance If We Want To

Day 296: "We can dance if we want to / We can leave your friends behind / 'Cause your friends don't dance and if they don't dance / Well, they're no friends of mine." That was what I thought when I saw this grasshopper waving at me from the sidewalk. The words, of course, are from "The Safety Dance," a Men Without Hats pop song my younger readers probably won't recognize. The lyrics are an excursion into the surreal, not quite nonsense but definitely not unintelligible, promising levels of hidden meaning which invite the listener to theorize from their own perspective. Me, I just think they're silly. That brings us 'round to my motto for life: The world needs more silly. Go dance with a grasshopper. It'll do you a world of good.
 

Thanks to the entomologists at BugGuide.net, I now know that this is a Crackling Forest Grasshopper, Trimerotropis verruculata suffusa.

Zip Trip Adventure

Day 295: Four of us met at my house this morning in time to be first through the gate at Northwest Trek, lining up to purchase tickets for the zip-line Adventure Course, second only to the Sensation Course in terms of difficulty. I'd completed the Discovery Course last week and was ready for something a bit more challenging. Ian was an old hand at zip-lines, and Maureen was excited by the prospect of a thrilling ride. Her cousin Kathleen might not have had quite as clear a picture of the day's agenda, but was game to try something new. Standing at the base of the first obstacle, a 30-foot climbing wall, she may have had some doubts. Maureen led the way, followed by yours truly, then Ian, and then Kathleen came up and was met with our cheers of encouragement.

Ian reaches the top of the wall

There were some suspension bridges to cross, each one gaining a bit of altitude between platforms, and there were also cargo nets to clamber through. The course is just that: an obstacle course. Over the next hour and a half, we'd progress from the easier challenges to tougher ones, with six different zip-lines up to 650' in length to give us a break from our physical exertions. Trust me, climbing through cargo nets on an incline isn't easy, especially when there's a gap between two of them on the way to the next platform.

Kathleen in the double nets

Previously, I'd been told I couldn't take my big camera with me, so today I brought along my little Sony point-and-shoot. If the photos aren't up to my usual standard, blame the camera!

As mentioned earlier, the difficulty in surmounting the obstacles increased as we worked our way through the course. I've tackled some pretty scary suspension bridges in my day, so those didn't bother me. However, swinging steps were something new, and I would have gotten through more easily if I'd remembered to check if there were stoppers on the cables before proceeding across. Clipped in, I got the carabiners stuck on a stopper, and then had to back up a step (yes, backwards!) to free it.

Swinging steps

The only other real problem I encountered was the tightrope. Although I'd breezed through an easier version of it last week, I tackled this particular challenge a little too directly. Halfway across, I did an unintentional pirouette. Maureen, waiting in the wings and gathering her courage, must have felt it falter just a little as I regained my balance. Ian crossed behind me with the grace of a dancer, and then Maureen followed suit. It was her most uncomfortable moment on the course (as it was mine).

The tightrope

Finally, two long zip-lines took us back to solid ground. There may have been some touchy moments, but not a one of us took a fall. I handed my camera off to Ian so he could get a shot of me zipping home. This course was both fun and exciting!

As the Crow flies

Lace And Lavender

Day 294: Silly as it seems, I had to remind myself that I wasn't growing lavender as a feature in my flower bed, I was growing it as a crop to be harvested. After making half a dozen lavender bottles (lavender wands), I wanted to make sachets, so picked several bouquets, cleaning the buds from the stems as they dried. I chose a wide glitter-dotted voile ribbon for the sachet fabric and hand-stitched it into two-inch pillows which were stuffed to the max with fragrant, lovely lavender; functional to be sure, but not particularly esthetically pleasing. They needed fancying up with some hand-made lace.

Initially, I'd planned to tat the edgings, but tatting cotton is getting terribly hard to find these days, at least in the #80 size I prefer. I dismissed crocheting as too coarse and common. Bobbin lace? "Little Hearts" from Geraldine Stott's "100 Traditional Bobbin Lace Patterns" is one of my favourites, but it meant that I would have to reduce the number of repeats for a handkerchief edging to one suitable for my sachets. That was easy enough to do, although it did mean making a new pricking.

"Little Hearts" takes 12 pair of bobbins and one gimp thread. I used sewing thread for the lace although it's a bit heavy for bobbin work, because the colour selection can't be beat. The gimp (the heavier thread outlining the hearts) is #8 perle cotton. The lace for each sachet takes approximately six hours to complete, time I spread out over several days, working on other projects in between bobbin binges.

I'm almost done with my fourth edging, and when it's done, I plan to make a few with finer white thread and variously coloured gimps just to have on hand for gifts. Who knows? You might even find a bit of bobbin lace in your Christmas stocking this year if you're good!

Fuzzy-Wuzzy Was A Phacelia

Day 293: We've all had an experience where we saw someone we were sure we recognized, but couldn't remember where we might have seen them. It happens quite frequently when that person normally wears a uniform and we encounter them in street clothes. They're out of context, effectively disguised as a civilian.

A few days ago, a Parkie friend stopped by to drop off some salad greens she'd grown, and I took advantage of the occasion to show her my garden which, incidentally, isn't at its best right now, thanks to another round of 90° temperatures. As we reached the kitchen end of the east bed, I pointed to the plant in the photo and said, "Don't ask me what that is. It was the only thing which sprouted out of a packet of 'bee flower' seeds."

She looked at it thoughtfully and replied, "It looks kinda like Phacelia."

I said, "Yeah, I thought so, too."

Well, d'uh! I know Phacelia. It's a common plant in our subalpine meadows. Ours are either blue or white, and are easily recognized by the long stamens. That said, they are not something I think of as a "garden plant," and therefore it never occurred to me that my "bee flower" (a favourite with the Bumbles) could be a tame variety of the Phacelias I see in the Park. Indeed, the leaf of this particular one is definitive. It is Phacelia tanacetifolia, the "Phacelia with tansy-like foliage." It just looked different out of uniform.

A Taste For Cilantro

Day 292: Of all the things they have to choose from in my garden, the Honey Bees (Apis mellifera) and several species of tiny non-aggressive wasps and flies seem to be particularly attracted to the cilantro (coriander). On the other hand, the Bumblebees are drawn to Phacelia, the only plant to grow from a mixed packet of "bee flower" seeds I was given by a friend. I had let one batch of cilantro bolt accidentally, but when I realized it was drawing pollinators, I allowed the rest of it to run its course. As a bonus, it looks like I'm going to have lots of coriander seeds, both for cooking and for saving over to plant again next year.