Return Of The Elk

Day 158: The days of a hundred or more elk in the pasture are long past, the three herds which used to populate Elbe Hills now separated or "thinned" by hunting, but now that the first shoots of tender grass are beginning to peek through, the thirty-plus members of this single herd have returned to graze. Standing off the left edge of the photo is the glaring offense of an enormous campaign sign, the name on it sure evidence of the mind-set which would place a mega-resort on this property along with four hundred houses. a strip mall, a golf course, a convention center and a train station, all designed to line the pockets of a family which wants a monopoly on the valley's tourist trade. It is the only view of Mount Rainier from SR 706, and even when the elk are not present, the sight of the Mountain (particularly at sunset) stops visitors by the dozen who wish to capture its magnificent presence with their cameras. Nor do I take the Mountain's striking beauty for granted for all of the years I've lived here. My files are filled with different seasonal views from this same vantage point. That said, I cheated for this shot. It was so near last light that the elk were little more than bright-rumped black dots if I set the exposure for the Mountain's glowing colour or, if I let the elk be seen, the glaciers and sky became one shade of lightly tinged white, the contours invisible. Had I thought to take a tripod, I could have done better, but instead, I braced against a wobbly fencepost and took two shots at different speeds, then combined them as best I could using my photo-processing software. You get the idea, anyway. Wouldn't you rather have this view than to look out over a testament to greedy capitalism?

Water Under Roadway

Day 119: The sign says,"Water over roadway." I don't think that's entirely accurate at this location, although if you were to have looked in the opposite direction, it was true in another hundred feet or so and then again further down the hill. And by "hill," I am referring to a gentle decline of about 50 feet, not enough to make me gear down when I'm on my bike and climbing back up toward home. Here, the waters of a small creek come in from the north, the stream fed by runoff from taller, forested hills. A channel roughly ten feet deep on the far side of the pasture holds 12" of water during normal conditions; when flood-producing rains occur, the stream leaps its banks and races to reach the ditch shown in the photo. It continues on for another quarter mile or so where it is joined by another side channel, thence to pass through a culvert beneath the highway and into the great Nisqually. However, the ditch can't handle rains like we've had recently, and the stream gets angry when it finds its way blocked by asphalt. It pounds and digs, determined to follow its natural course. While water over the roadway may seem to be the most immediate concern, water under the roadway poses a much greater threat to motorists who can't see potholes and collapses through the turbid flow. Don't be an idiot. Turn around. Don't drown. And yes, I had already ascertained that the piece of verge supporting me when I took this photo had not been undermined.

A Bit On The Wet Side

Day 116: Murphy's Law went into effect right at the start of the current round of torrential rain. I joke that my pluviometer drowned, but I think at 25+ years old, the sensor simply decided to retire from service. It had certainly performed its job admirably, but its timing could have been better. Fortunately, I had a cheap plastic replacement stashed for just such an eventuality, although this means that whatever the weather, I will be obligated to empty it manually and on a daily basis until I can find an affordable replacement.

That said, it's wet. Above me, Hwy 706 is closed at Kernahan Road following a landslide and water over the roadway at Copper Creek. Below me, the ditches are running over their banks, leaving cars and trucks to hydroplane through several inches of runoff. Before it could get any worse, I made a dash for the library and the grocery store, otherwise stopping only to take a few photos. The Nisqually has spread at the east end of Alder Lake, although it's still within its banks; the Mashel in Eatonville is raging and turbid. I'm safe, but the Park is closed due to landslide threat, and friends upstream of me where the valley narrows and runoff is greater are undoubtedly much concerned as to what may happen if the rain continues.