Day 162: In these days of COVID-19 and social distancing, it's becoming increasingly difficult for me to find natural-history material for my posts. Consequently, I thought I'd share with you a discovery from my last outing (possibly my last outing for some time, I'm afraid).
In my younger years, I thought nothing of setting off cross-country with my trusty map and compass in the tangled woods of the Pacific Northwest. These days, the knees and hips don't do so well in descending steep ravines, nor do they like climbing back out again, particularly when the climb involves heaving the entire body over fallen trees or clambering up on andesitic handholds supported only by the merest tip of boot toe. The bottom line is that the old grey mare, she ain't what she used to be, a fact I've had to face, like it or no. That's not to say I don't still go cross-country, but I go less far and I choose my routes with a sharper eye to potential obstacles like those infamous 40-foot cliffs which lurk between 20-foot contour lines. No, my exploring is somewhat more limited these days, and usually finds me on some "bunny trail" (as Kevin calls them), obscure paths created by a very few footfalls, human or animal as the case might be. I figure if the elk found a passage, the chance I could get through without breaking a leg is pretty good. However, if the bunny trail was made by repeated human use, there's a good chance there's something worth seeing at the end of it. In this instance, I was trying to access the Mashel River from Nisqually State Park. The bunny trail took me down a finger ridge where I found a car hung up in a tree. I'm not usually very keen on man-made artifacts even though they make interesting photographic subjects, but in this case, I thought I'd nose around.
I can't tell you the make of the vehicle, but it must have been a nice car at one time. I was able to determine that its seats provided "All Leather Comfort" and were manufactured by MoPa(something) from a small metal oval riveted to the frame. Shiny chrome still surrounded the broken gauges on the dash, but any other identifying ornaments had long since been removed. The paint was bluish, but whether that was the manufacturer's application or a black faded by sun and age, I couldn't tell. Content that I had learned all I could about a subject far outside my expertise, I let my imagination have its fling as it conjured up multiple scenarios for how the vehicle came to be in this spot, and that kept me entertained as I struggled back up the hill, hoping to find another bunny trail to explore.
