Lenticulars and Snow

Day 79: The Mountain is once again clad in white, the rugged, stony spines of ridges and outcrops now hidden from view. For the last several years, each summer has exposed more of the bare bones as glaciers not only recede but become thinner. It does my heart good to see snow covering naked rock now, although I know that even a record snowfall would not build the glaciers back to their former status. Glacier-building is a long process, not something which can occur to any great extent in a single season. Lenticular clouds such as these approaching the Mountain from the south often presage a change in the weather, although in this case, it was not immediately to come. The photo was taken yesterday. This morning, the sky is clear, save for a few barely discernible wisps of high-altitude cloud.

Moon Over The Mountain

Day 44: You have to understand that in the Pacific Northwest, you don't usually get opportunities to view celestial events or, for that matter, to observe a blue sky, so when this spectacular combination presented itself through my living room window, I grabbed the camera without thinking twice. Plunging through a tangle of chest-high snowberry bushes intermixed with dry blackberry vines, I picked up a few thorns en route to a position which avoided power lines, poles, fence posts and a significantly ugly display of political statement mounted on a truck parked mid-pasture, and managed to make it in and out of the maze without tripping on the frost-slick ground. It was at great hazard to life and limb that I made this photograph for you when I could just as easily have generated it with open-source AI. Apparently, there's a lot of that going on right now. It will never happen here. I promise you that.

Shadow On The Sky

Day 267: Several conditions have to align for the Mountain to throw a shadow against the sky, and I've been missing the event by minutes on these last few hazy mornings. Today, though, I threw back the curtains at exactly the right moment and, pausing only long enough to appreciate the bonus of fog in the foreground, ran across the road with camera in hand. As the sun crept nearer to the horizon, the shadow began to fade and was nearly gone by the time I'd snapped half a dozen photos. The haze is due to an inversion layer, not the Canadian wildfires. There is some smoke in it from local vegetation fires (Fourth of July fireworks delivered quite a few of those), but nothing like the conditions being experienced in the eastern part of the country. Still, it's been hot and dry with daytime temps in the 90s and no sign of precipitation in the forecast. Fire season is upon us. Please be careful.

Aerial Assault

Day 4: These are a few of the scenes I captured yesterday of the DNR staging area for their aerial assault on the 8 Road Fire. Two helicopters were bucketing water from a nearby lake, and another was carrying retardant tanks. The support crew for the flights remained on the ground until sunset and then pulled out, despite the fire having grown from 30 to 150 acres during the day. I do not pretend to understand the logistics of wildland firefighting, and I know there are aviation rules which must be followed regarding night flights. However, I did expect to see the crew back in the pasture this morning, but there is nothing out there presently except cows and a lot of smoke. The wind has now shifted and is carrying it into my valley. I cannot see the hills through it. While I still don't believe my valley is in any danger of being evacuated, I have my go-bag by the door and a kitty carrier within easy reach. We are not expected to get precipitation until Sunday, and even that won't be much (if any).

Return Of The Elk

Day 159: As far as I know, there has been no decision as yet in regard to the appeal filed by the developer to reverse the county's decision to revoke their permit to build a mega-resort on this property based on the fact that they (the developers) have made no progress toward meeting construction deadlines in twenty years' time. That, however, is another page in history, and one best laid aside for the moment. Today, we can rejoice in the sight of at least fifty Roosevelt elk pasturing on new grass, an increase in their numbers over the last decade (at least in my observations). Once numbering at least 108 (by actual count), members of three different herds once came here to dine, but they were discouraged from gathering by having shots fired over their heads and being pursued by tractors and other vehicles until only a brave 30 or so remained. The population had stagnated at that level over the last decade, but this year, the census has swelled by at least fifty percent. Whether this is due to reproductive success or the merger of one herd with another, I do not know. I'm just glad to see them out there, keeping the thistles cropped.

Canada Goose

Day 198: As if it wasn't tough enough to squeeze my daily walk in between traffic, possible human contact and disputes with a herd of elk over the right-of-way, now I have to contend with Canada geese. Make no mistake: this is a large bird, and the advantage it has over humans is that it can fly, and it does not hesitate to do so, straight toward anyone it perceives as being in its territory. In this particular scenario, Mr. Goose and I were on opposite sides of a barbed-wire fence, but we were in eye contact for some time as the goose assessed whether or not I was a rival. I know to pick my battles; I can rout a herd of elk, but Goose won the staring contest and I moved on.

Branta canadensis populations are somewhat reduced from what they were in Washington a decade ago, but in many areas, they continue to be abundant and are considered pests. Public education about geese is important to controlling their numbers. When favoured by human contributions to food sources, goose populations can rise quite rapidly, so eliminating potential foods is an effective deterrent. Many parks post signs cautioning people not to feed geese and ducks. This not only discourages them from visiting the space, but is also better for the overall health of the birds. Two groups of honkers populate the state: residents (non-migratory) and non-residents (migratory). For a young goose to migrate, it must be taught its route by its parents. If the parents are non-migratory, all subsequent generations will be non-migratory as well. That said, if you're watching a flock of cute little goslings, don't forget to look behind you occasionally. "Getting goosed" can be a very painful and memorable experience.

Roosevelt Elk

Day 181: The Roosevelt Elk have been out almost every day for the last two weeks (32 in this morning's count), and as of this writing, they haven't ventured over to my side of the road. For now, they seem to be content to eat the new grass shoots, but sooner or later, they'll get a whiff of the assorted tasty shrubs in my yard and Spring War 2019 hostilities will have begun. I have my slingshot handy, but they generally launch their assaults on the garden under cover of darkness and unless I sleep with one eye open, they'll crop plants right down to the ground. The horse chestnuts survived despite last year's onslaught and I will be putting chicken-wire or plastic mesh over most everything else. Oddly, even plastic bird-netting is effective as a deterrent. Far be it from me to tell them they should floss after (or during!) meals.

Looking Forward

Day 80: New Year's Day morning wasn't quite as rosy as I'd hoped, but any day you can see the Mountain is a good day. Although there's no substance to omens and portents, I will offer one up by saying that this bodes well for the coming year. In words from the Pixar film "Up," "Adventure is out there!" and I'll be looking for it under rocks, on mountaintops, in swamps, on trail and off. There is always something new to find (or new to me at least, and that's what counts). Will Myrio sprout in abundance again this year? Will the Phantoms return? Can I possibly justify a road trip to Mount Adams to search for Drosera anglica, the "other" Sundew native to Washington?

We tend to become somewhat myopic when surrounded by events like those of 2017, and it's difficult to focus our vision as we look forward. I find myself having to use a magnifier to bring the picture into view when you'd think a telescope would be better suited to the task of seeing far ahead. For me, it is the small, neglected bits of beauty in Nature which inspire my forward progress. In them, I find the compass I require to keep me on track and out of the sinkhole of despair. One lichen, one tiny flower, one botanical mystery, and all else pales in my mind's eye. We all need such helpers as these. I hope you will find yours as we look forward to 2018. Happy New Year!

The Mountain

Day 81: Even from Seattle and other points north, Mount Rainier dominates the western Washington skyline, or to be more accurate, I should say that from points north, the peak shows its full majesty. Up close where I live, the lower portion is generally obscured by foreground ridges. It isn't until you get to Paradise or Sunrise that it really comes into perspective, often drawing a breathless "Wow!" from visitors. Long-time residents speak of "The Mountain" with capital letters. You seldom hear us say "Mount Rainier" unless we're talking to tourists.

At 14,410' feet, any climbing route on the Mountain can be called a "world-class" challenge. The Camp Muir route is the easiest, and generally requires two long days from Paradise to summit and back. Longer and a bit more challenging, the Emmons Glacier route (east side) is also popular with alpinists. In my heyday, I made six successful summit bids on five routes, doubling up on the plod through Muir. Of my climbs (none technical), an ascent via Kautz Glacier was the most demanding. My husband and I carried full expedition gear to the top and overnighted in the crater.

To look at me now, you wouldn't think I'd been the tough little nugget that I was in those days. In addition to climbing, I was on the Mountain as often as not, hiking to remote locations off-trail, camping out for weeks at a time alone. That spirit of adventure is still alive within me, but alas, the knees and hips disagree when my brain suggests a 20-mile dayhike "for old times' sake." That said, I'm not quite ready to roll over yet, so don't be surprised if some sunny summer afternoon, you run into me at Indian Henry's, Grand Park or up on Panhandle Gap. I don't turn around until I'm "halfway," however far that may be. The second half is the trek home.

Painted Mountain

Day 3: When the clouds lifted this morning, Mount Rainier was revealed in a luxurious wrap of new snow which had fallen overnight. Only a few days ago, I had stood looking up from Longmire at an expanse of bare rock until, embarrassed at seeing her aged flanks so exposed, I averted my eyes out of deference. Her naked season seemed protracted this year, only a faint and transient veil of white coming in September to hide her craggy body, yet she maintained her majesty throughout.

Those of us who watch the Mountain's seasons know her many faces and have favourites among them. The "new dress" is mine.

Crow Tree

Day 75: From their vantage point in the Crow Tree, the Breakfast Bunch can watch for activity at any of four locations where they might expect to find food spread for their enjoyment. Of the four, the most reliable spot is my "crow board" where daily handouts of dry dog food and table scraps are provided near dawn. As soon as they hear the door slide back or see me in the yard, the cawing commences, and before I'm back inside, they've gathered like a flurry of black snowflakes on the board, the fence and the ground. In between their scrabblings to gather beaksful of kibble, the Steller's Jays steal a few bites, but there's plenty to go around. No bird ever went hungry begging at my "table!"

Autumn Splendor

Day 7: Unlike the vibrant shades of red and orange which make New England famous for fall color, a good year in the Pacific Northwest sees a transition largely in the range of yellows and golds. For the most part, autumn is an almanac of browns: umber, ochre, tan, buff, sienna, khaki, coffee, mahogany and on through a thousand shades too subtle for the eye to name. That is not to say it is a dull season, because when the sun breaks through and the Mountain peers over the tops of burnished evergreens and sere pasturelands, the landscape is gilded with copper and shimmers where it is laid against a pale aqua sky.

September Morn

Day 334: Second only to Christmas on my calendar, September Morn is a day of personal celebration. Today we enter the most beautiful season, a time when Nature puts her energies by for winter, like housewives of old at the canning kettle. Ma Nature has on a fog-trimmed apron, and you can see her oven warming in the dawn. Her hair is done up in a kerchief of clouds as she readies for a day of preservation. Now she works her hardest, storing seeds in her root cellar, bedding nuts and fruit in a mulch of leaves to keep them safe against frost; a busy lady, Ma, and make no mistake. She has a family to feed and knows well how to stock the larder. Join me in rejoicing for September Morn!