C For Ceiling

Day 81: There are a number of different versions of the mnemonic for "stalactite" versus "stalagmite." I learned it as "C for ceiling, G for ground," i.e., "stalaCtite" as opposed to "stalaGmite." Did you know that there is a related term for the structure created when the two of them meet? Oh, you could call them "pillars" or "columns" and be equally correct, but I much prefer the less frequently used word "stalagnate." I have examples of all three, rendered in sparkling ice, on the various corners of my house. It is a less-than-optimum condition, and unless I had taken up a vigil outdoors overnight, unpreventable. The best I can do at this point is knock them free and hope that the gutters and downspouts are up to the task ahead of them. Temperatures have crept above 32 degrees, and snow level is predicted to rise to 3500 feet mid-week. Is a flood next on the list of PNW weather events? Time will tell.

Ice Lashes

Day 138: Returning to work today after a protracted "snow absence" was like walking into a faerieland. At the end of January bare ground lay all around the Longmire Administration Building, but today it was mounded with white, a large hummock the only indicator of a picnic table in the middle of the back lawn. The roof of every building was piled with snow, trees shedding gobbets of slush which landed with dull thumps like muffled drumbeats as I walked around the housing area. And oh, the icicles! Fringes of ice-lashes fluttered over the blank eyes of windows, curling under as the weight of snow pushed them beyond the eaves, dangerous and beautiful, fragile and sharp as knives. The wise walker steers well away from trees and overhangs when ice prevails. I kept to the middle of the road to do my sightseeing.

Flat-Earthers

Day 119 (caught up - backdated posts below): If I had a dollar for every person who has said to me, "I think the scientists are wrong about global warming. Look how much more snow we had last year," I could retire quite happily and live off the interest, so I'm going to give a very simplified explanation for those of you who are being deceived by your eyes. If you don't "get it" after this, I wash my hands of you.

There is a lot of water on this little blue marble we call home. It's in oceans and lakes and rivers, and it's also in less obvious places like glaciers and ice fields. When the weather is warm and dry, a portion of this surface water evaporates and is held in the atmosphere. The higher the temperature goes and the drier it gets, the evaporation rate increases. When temperatures cool again, that moisure condenses and falls back to Earth as rain or snow. This can and does occur regionally as a perfectly normal process. When it occurs on a global scale, we see more record events and "super-storms." That is what is occurring at the present time: a deviation out of the range of normal cycles. Our glaciers and ice fields are diminishing, and sea level is rising as the water which was once stockpiled as ice is carried aloft and re-deposited in liquid form.

My tolerance for willful ignorance and the "flat-earth mentality" of certain sectors of our population is at an all-time low presently. Even if you choose not to "believe" in global warming (man-caused or natural), wouldn't it be better to err on the side of caution and look at what we can do about it instead of greasing the skids?

Snowshoe To Secret Falls

Day 80: It doesn't happen often enough that I can call it a tradition, but when conditions are right, I like to close out the year with a snowshoe hike. Although I had a haggis dinner planned (complete with neeps and tatties), I finally couldn't resist the pull of sunshine (albeit cold) and bare road. I pulled together a quick winter daypack, threw my snowshoes and poles in the back of the car and was on the trail by 11:30.

Westside Road is gated in winter and makes a lovely snowshoe walk with several turnaround-point options which leave you feeling as if you've achieved a goal. Sometimes, I'll just go as far as the Graphis Scripta Grove, a stand of Red Alder about a mile in, the only place in the Park where I've found the tiny lichen which gave the site its nickname. Other times when I'm feeling ambitious, I'll hit Dry Creek or Fish Creek, but at three miles from the car, the trip back feels like it takes forever. On this occasion, I figured I'd just tag Graphis Scripta and be home in time to cook the haggis, but I got a pleasant surprise.

The route is closed to motorized travel, but skiers and snowshoers both use it for winter recreation, as do boot-footed explorers who invariably discover that postholing isn't fun after the first half mile. Consequently, the track is usually chewed up and lumpy, skiers cutting deep, narrow swaths and snowshoers stumbling along, tripping on the raised edges of the ski ruts. Yesterday, however, it seemed that the skiers had stuck to one "lane" and snowshoers to another; in other words, travel was an utter breeze! I was at Graphis Scripta in no time at all and exulting in my good fortune, decided to continue on to Secret Falls.

That's not it's real name. In fact, it's too small to even have a name. A small cascade tumbles over rocks no more than 50 feet from the bed of Westside Road, but is deeply set in a niche which makes it invisible to anyone on the road. In summer, it can be heard, and thus a small social trail leads to it; in winter, it hides from anyone who does not know where to step into the forest. It is always festooned with icicles in winter, but photography is difficult because the site is so shaded. I kicked myself for not having thought to put the tripod in my pack, but then, I hadn't planned to hike any farther than the alder grove. Fortunately, the snow wasn't overly crusty, so I improvised by jamming the camera into the snow covering a fallen log, allowing me to get in the shot to give some size perspective to the icicles. My visit done, I was tempted to go further, but the thought of haggis pulled me homeward. It was delicious, if a little later to come to table than anticipated.

A Little Background Radiation

Day 68: As you might guess from the 25-cent price tag, these ornaments date back a few years. In fact, they're almost as old as I am, and come from an era when nuclear power was envisioned as the solution to all the world's energy problems. Radiation was very poorly understood, and radium was used in a wide variety of household applications ranging from glow-in-the-dark watch faces to Christmas ornaments such as the icicles shown here. Interestingly, the amount of glow emitted by the icicles has changed very little over more than half a century, and in an even stranger turn of events, the plastic snowflakes which were NOT "glow-in-the-dark" but were stored in the same box seem to have picked up traces of radiation. When the room is entirely darkened, their shapes can be made out on the tree, faintly apparent but nevertheless glowing. Oh, for a Geiger counter!