Nisqually-Ohop Confluence

Day 26: Although this spot sees more activity during a salmon run (and much of it illegal, unless you're a tribal member), for the most part, the point at which little Ohop Creek drifts lazily into the big water of the Nisqually River will be unoccupied by anything more than an occasional eagle or osprey, a handful of chickadees and kinglets, and one lone Crow. The broad, emphatic speech of the Nisqually subsumes the quiet patter of Ohop; its commentary on obstructive rocks and feathering grasses hushes Ohop's tales of upstream wildlife. One must listen carefully for Ohop's voice, but it is there to be caught by a perceptive ear. Up-river, the Nisqually was divided in its opinions, two halves furiously raging on either side of an island issue until they could meet in a common channel to continue their way here. Beyond, a mile or more away, the Nisqually gets cranky once again but soon resolves its internal debate and then moves confidently and serenely toward the towns of McKenna and Yelm where it finds itself dammed despite its best intentions to reach Puget Sound unobstructed.

Two Waters

Day 142: Forget laughter as the best medicine. For me, the most potent restorative is Nature, or as I'm more likely to express it, "Out." When things weigh heavily on my mind or when the aches and pains of age begin to reflect in my disposition, I opt for a dose of Out. I've spent a lot of this week Out (albeit close to home). Don't let the sunny sky fool you. It's cold out there and rather breezy, so my ventures Out have been limited to the brief window of above-freezing temperatures from late morning and mid-afternoon. Out, I can shut off the internal dialog and simply BE, and while that doesn't change a thing, it makes it easier to bear when the world closes in on me again.

Today, I went Out to the confluence of little Ohop Creek and the Nisqually River. It was a short hike for me, a little over three miles total. Only one Pacific Wren and one Black-Capped Chickadee shared the walk with me. It was too early for Caddis-fly "periwinkles" in the creek, too early even for the grass to be greening, although one dandelion's yellow eye stared up at me as I strode by. Nodding inflorescences of Indian-plum showed only winks of white between their sepals, hinting at Spring but still too shy to make a statement. The river rambled on, its rush of conversation drowning the whisper of the creek, and before I'd learned their secrets, it was time to turn toward warmth and home.

Conservation Of Resource

Day 37: Lichens such as the Usneas (collectively called "Old-Man's Beard" in common parlance) excel at conserving available moisture. The fibrils which comprise the thallus of these lichens maximize surface area, and their tangled web allows them to hold water drops for a longer period of time than smooth-surfaced leaves can achieve. Although they may appear to dry out during periods of low rainfall, morning dew and atmospheric moisture are sufficient to sustain them. When damp weather returns, they rehydrate quickly. Even in desert climates, certain lichens can thrive, but of course in the Pacific Northwest, you're at risk of being colonized if you hold still longer than five minutes.

Graphis Scripta, Script Lichen

Day 36: It's always a thrill for me when I find Graphis scripta in a new location, mainly because it's darned hard to spot unless you have your nose pressed right up against the host tree. Many lichens have a thin white thallus, as you'd discover if you began looking closely at the bark of Alnus rubra, Red Alder. It's called "red" for a reason, although in the Pacific Northwest, the true colour is generally so thickly colonized by those assorted lichens that alder bark gives the overall impression of being grey. That said, G. scripta seems to be less common than other lichens, so I've made a personal project out of finding it. At least locally, it tends to be restricted to the lower portions of tree trunks, only occurring above 3' in height in rare circumstances. The black "scribbles" which characterize the lichen are called "lirellae," i.e., fruiting bodies (apothecia) which, if viewed closely, exhibit a groove down the center of the length. Some subtlety in its appearance caused me to step off the trail for a closer look at one young alder yesterday, and sure enough, G. scripta's Ogham characters had been written in a shaky hand a foot above ground level, untranslatable, elegant and almost too small to see.

National Take A Hike Day

Day 35: Not that I needed an excuse, but since today is National Take A Hike Day, I decided to do just that. I'd planned to amble down to the Nisqually-Ohop confluence a few days ago, but en route to the parking area, I passed a drug deal in process and pulled up beside a woman who, to all appearances, had just "released" five chickens into the state park. She spoke to me without being prompted, nervousness quite apparent in her voice, and claimed that they'd been there when she drove up. The chickens' behaviour indicated otherwise as they gathered around her feet as if they recognized her, but since I couldn't prove anything, I let it drop and started down the trail. The more I thought about the suspicious activities, the less sure I was about leaving my car unattended and after walking less than a quarter mile, I turned around and went home. Today, I made up for it and hiked to the trail's end, roughly two miles one way, and had the trail entirely to myself. "Hike with a buddy" be damned. Solitude ain't solitude if you have somebody else along.

The Photographer's Bane

Day 100: I have spent a large portion of my photographic energies on trying to capture a "field guide" shot of a Black-capped Chickadee (Poecile atricapillus). I tease my east-coast friends about getting excited over Bald Eagles because here they are common, but those same east-coasters have Chickadees at their feeders daily, almost hand-tame, and I'd gladly trade half a dozen Eagles for just one tiny 'dee who would hold still long enough for a portrait. This, dear readers, is as close as it gets for me. You can see the field markings, but the pose is far from classic. Poor little guy must have dropped the bud!

Black-capped Chickadees frequently hang out with Ruby-crowned or Golden-crowned Kinglets (or maybe it's the other way around). The Kinglets are usually what catches my attention, "popcorning" among alder and cottonwood branches faster than my eye can follow. Trying to zoom in on them is a hopeless task. They are usually at a distance which makes it hard for me to identify a branch, let alone focus on it. Likewise, the Chickadees pop off just as soon as I spot their perches, and the whole congenial flock, Kinglets and Chickadees alike, seldom populate a site longer than five minutes. That said, I still hope to get that classic shot some day.

Americana Over The Top

Day 99: Classic Americana down by the riverside...rusted-out car bodies, shotgun shells and brass cartridges, decaying paper targets, beer and "power drink" cans, cardboard and other paper litter, and undoubtedly a collection of less savoury items concealed by snow. Two miles in and with only a small daypack on my shoulders, there wasn't much I could do to improve the situation. In any event, the good-ol'-boy shooting parties at this location are at least a weekly occurrence, the detritus of great America in a state of growth far in excess of its potential to be removed. It was here that I saw the Chickadees and Kinglets; here, where two waters meet over breeding salmon. A juvenile Bald Eagle perched in a tree on the south side of the mainstem, a dramatic contrast to the shotgun shells stuck on the ends of north-side branches where they turned a grove of small alders into a redneck Christmas display. This Nisqually River raced by, waiting to be swollen with rain so that it might carry the mounds of plastic bags and bottles out to sea. I cried here, upon the sullied bosom of the Earth: cried for what we've done and what we've undone, both to the good and to the bad. My thoughts for the future, once sprinkled with a few small stars of hope, fell into shade and shadow.

Grieving for Nature, I turned homeward, but as I passed through the screen of brush at the back of this lamentable scenario, a furtive movement drew my eye to the ground. There, searching among fallen leaves for dinner, was my friend and guide the Pacific Wren. My dark reverie was dispelled by the cheer with which he went about his business. It's a funny thing: sometimes you don't see the lesson until days after the class. Thank you, Troglodytes. We'll get through this together.

Pacific Wren Hide-and-Seek

Day 97: The Latin name Troglodytes troglodytes says a lot about the social life of enchanting Pacific (Winter) Wren. While this mouse-sized bird doesn't actually live in a cave, it forages under leaf litter and darts from view as effectively as if it had slipped down a mole hole. I think this must have been a young bird. It showed no fear of me and allowed me to get within inches of it or its hiding place. That didn't make photographing it easy, though! It was very active, skittering here and there, disappearing under cottonwood leaves and emerging again where I least expected it. I followed it along the edge of the trail for about twenty feet over the space of ten minutes, watching it snap up insects and spiders. We parted company when it went into deep shadow beneath a cedar. Several others were playing hide-and-seek in the bushes, a behaviour more typical of the species. Always a favourite of mine, Pacific Wren sings a cascading, lengthy song, a melody far larger than its diminutive size.

Caching Through The Snow

Day 94: "Caching through the snow / That's how I spent my day / Oh, what fun it is to find / A brand-new place to play!"

I have to admit that I'd never been all the way to the end of the trail (gated road) despite how long I've lived here and the fact that I've worked with the Nisqually Land Trust at a site about a quarter mile in. The old road goes on for almost two miles, not losing much elevation until the last quarter mile when it descends to the confluence of Ohop Creek and the Nisqually River. The timber was harvested from this acreage years ago and a network of closed roads remains, and now most of the land is under the umbrella of Washington State Parks. The "Nisqually-Mashel Park" is still under development. Permission was granted for someone to place a geocache within the park boundaries, and a mad rush of first-to-find fiends sallied forth on December 31 to find it. On that date, I was snowshoeing in the capital-P Park (Mount Rainier) and enjoying the solitude. I've lost the drive to be first off the block. I knew this one would still be there when I got around to it.

The cache was not the only thing I found during this adventure. There was some classic "great" Americana manifesting as rusted-out car bodies, empty beer cans, trash, shell casings and targets, but at least I saw nothing to indicate illegal fishing. Maybe two miles is too far for a snagger to carry a 20-pound salmon. Who knows? For company, I had an assortment of dear friends: Pacific Wren, a young Bald Eagle, an unidentified woodpecker which I never saw clearly, Kinglets of some sort and of course the elusive Black-Capped Chickadees who are my photographic bane. The spot is certainly worth another visit, and I wouldn't have discovered it if geocaching hadn't taken me there.