Prevalent Species

Day 121: I must admit that bryology is not my field, so I am venturing out on a very long limb, saw in hand, to suggest that this might be Hylocomium splendens, a common "step moss" in the Pacific Northwest. It carpets the forest floor on the Park's Tahoma Woods property, and when I say "carpets," I mean thickly. Its reddish stems and chartreuse foliage give the woods a feeling of lushness you won't find even in the Olympic Rainforest. The pseudo-fractal pattern of its leaf blades rivals that of any fern, always appearing translucent and moist. A hiker's foot straying from the path would be engulfed by its depth (to the moss' detriment, I might add).

There is such beauty in the microcosm of the forest! Take time to observe the small things when you're out on your next hike.

Strange Planet

Day 120: You have only to walk through the forest to experience parallel universes and alien civilizations. Bizarrely shaped creatures occupy every rotting stump and march across the duff in vast armies. If you think giraffes and octopi are odd, bend down and make the acquaintance of a family of bryophytes or better yet, a colony of Cladonia lichens like those shown here. Like the other creatures which populate the Earth, these fascinating plants have evolved their peculiar structures to adapt to their environments in a manner which allows them to take advantage of moisture and nutrients. Notice how the sporophyte (seed head) holds a water drop. Observe the scales of the lichen and consider how they can pull moisture from the atmosphere by presenting more surface area in a small space. Truly, there are wonders at our feet!

Water Restriction

Day 119: Someone's been overwatering the pitiful plant in the Admin Building's upstairs bathroom. We can exclude at least half the staff (those who aren't equipped with hoses). And that, I think, is probably enough said on the subject, but the sign did make me laugh.

Boundary Trail, Tahoma Woods

Day 118: When the forecast rain hadn't materialized by 10:30 AM, I decided to seize the day and go for a walk. In so doing, I discovered a trail I hadn't known existed on the north and east sides of Park Headquarters at Tahoma Woods. The forest floor was lush with some type of step moss (bryology is a sea in which I do not swim at all well) and my poor little point-and-shoot camera, carried instead of the SX30 IS, recorded the melange of winter greens and browns with a warm wash, warping the photographic temperature toward an unnatural yellow hue. But it was not the color I wanted to capture. It was the complexity of the environment I hoped to portray, and I found that tone-mapping and converting the image to "box camera" served my purpose best. Here, you can see each scale of bark, each ferny frond of moss without the distraction of color. It makes me wonder if perhaps color vision isn't inferior after all.

A Tiger In My Tank

Day 117: Some of my readers may be old enough to remember the Exxon commercials and "Put a tiger in your tank," and some may even remember the joke which was spawned by the adverts:

Question: How do you put a tiger in your tank?

Answer: First you put his back paws in. Then you put his front paws in. Then you put his head in. And then you kick him in the gas hole.

Well, I discovered the tiger in my tank today. I'd gone out for a six-mile walk, but accidentally set the counter for a distance of three miles. I didn't notice until the male voice I'd chosen told me I'd gone halfway, but I said "What the heck, he'll tell me when I've gone three miles and then I'll just turn around. Not a problem." You can't reset a workout midstream on the Nano, but it keeps a record even if you exceed your goal. It does allow you to check your pace without pausing the workout, though, and when I checked at two miles, it told me I was pulling something just under a 14-minute mile. At the end of my intended six-mile workout, I'd maintained a pace of 14'49".

That was when I discovered the tiger in the tank. After the selected voice had given me the statistics, a new voice said, "Congratulations! This is Tiger Woods. You've just completed your fastest mile."

Neighborhood Watch

Day 116: If you travel the Foothills Trail east from Orting, about two miles from town, you'll find a large grassy area rimmed by 2 x 4 fencing topped by three strands of barbed wire, and posts which bear warning signs varying from "Keep Out" to "Don't feed the animals" and "If I don't call the police, my neighbor will." Clearly, the property owner means business, but nine times out of ten, the open space seems empty of any life larger than a bug. However, if you're lucky, you'll discover what the signs protect...

No, I've said that all backwards. If you're lucky, you'll discover what protects the signs.

You see, this is an emu farm. I've never seen more than three emus in it at any one time. Most times, there's only one. Bicyclists and walkers often stop to take pictures of the enormous birds, but must be careful not to venture too close to the fence. Emus are not known for their sunny dispositions. This fellow was feeling decidedly territorial today, and chased me back from my position at the wires by running toward me with clear intention to attack. Even though I had retreated to the trail twenty feet away, he kept pacing the boundary, following me whether I moved left or right. With a little fancy dancin', I was able to shift him over to his job description. This is one "Neighborhood Watch" you don't want to mess with!

Vertical Bookends

Day 115: I was fifteen minutes into a workout on the stationary bike when I saw one of my back neighbors walking down the driveway. He was moving slowly as he usually does and I figured he was on his way out to get the mail, but a minute or so later, I saw his wife trotting out behind him. Neither of them passed into the field of view from my front window until several minutes had passed, and then I saw them both standing near the end of the driveway staring UP. That was enough to raise my curiosity, so I dismounted and followed the line of their gaze to a white head glistening in the sunshine high in one of Clyde's trees. Eagle! Hot and sweaty, I grabbed the camera, slid on a pair of shoes and dived into the cold clad in shorts, an athletic tank top and a bright red headband, drawing stares from every passing car as I stood beside the neighbors dressed in their winter woollies, right down to gloves and hats. Then I realized there were two birds, not one. Zoomed in at 74x (digital), the photo lacks a bit in clarity, but other than a slight crop, this image has not been processed in any way.

Silver Fog

Day 114: Today I am making an exception to my unspoken rule restricting photos shot on a previous day. Why? Because I like photographing fog, and this was a "happy accident" shot yesterday in Pack Forest. I'd forgotten I had the camera set to black-and-white and was concerned that the sun would dispel the rays if I hesitated too long. Even so, the natural monochrome of the scene was such that it took me a second to realize what was missing in the recorded image, i.e., color. I reshot, but in the end, decided I liked the black-and-white version best.

My first experience with using a 35mm film camera came about when I was planning a backcountry trip to take my mother to the ranger station where her brother had served in the 1950s. I had always been reluctant to learn how to use a "real" camera, having grown up with a box Brownie and later a Polaroid Instamatic, but my husband was an accomplished photographer and convinced me to carry his Mamiya-Sekor on the trip after giving me a crash course in operating it. I returned home a week later with several rolls of exposed film, and many of the images were of fog winding amongst the trees or drifting over the lake. Thus my love of "fogtography" began.

Hiking in fog is a magical experience (at least when it's not so dense that you miss the ends of switchbacks as I've done on several occasions). Trees and shrubbery take on new dimensions as the fog accentuates their distance from other objects. Though blurred by mist, leaves stand apart from their fellows, separated by a gauze of ephemeral droplets. Familiar paths reform their curves and corners into mysterious new topographies. Distances shorten in the sight and lengthen in the mind, relativistically skewed in time and space by the playful wraiths of fog. Fog-walks are not to everyone's taste, their magic taking an eerie inflection with concealments and illusions, but those of us who know the fog-faeries delight in their innocent mischief and revel in their pranks. Fog is friendly. Fog is fun, and it gives us a hazy, dizzy new perspective on an otherwise mundane world.

Reaching The Goal

Day 113: When the Park's winter fitness challenge began, I set myself a modest personal goal of 150 miles, expecting bad weather. I figured I could pull that off between January 7 and March 30 even if I had to do it in the rain. Well, I reached that goal today with a hike to the peak of Pack Forest...not Hugo Peak (a lower point), but the peak only known by its benchmark designation "Pack."

The last several days have been marked by fog: freezing fog in the early hours of the day, reluctant fog which overstays its welcome like a bad guest. It's a cold fog. It penetrates clothing and insists you wear mittens, a cozy hat and a jacket even though you're sweating from exertion. But if you can rise above it, you'll find the sun shining in a bright blue sky and temperatures which might mislead you into removing a layer or putting your mittens in your pack. Don't be fooled! It's down there, waiting for you to return.

Only the top 100 feet of the peak known as Pack were out in the warm sunshine today. Here in the chilly transition zone, you'd never have guessed that around the corner, the temperature would rise fifteen degrees. I took advantage of the moment for lunch and a celebratory photo, but as I descended, a hundred yards off the summit, I was back in cold fog for the remainder of my hike.

Stepping Out

Day 112: I'd already ordered a standard pedometer before I purchased the iPod Nano and then was pleased to find that the iPod had a mileage tracker built in. Of course when I'm hiking, I don't want an iPod singing in my ear and keeping me from hearing the sounds of Nature, but Aussie folk music and sea shanties keep foot-pounding pavement miles from being boring. Anyway, the step-counting pedometer arrived yesterday and I got it all set up except for calibrating my pace. Got the battery installed, the time set, my weight entered, and most importantly (to this story anyway), I attached the belt leash, a little security strap like you'd attach to a pocket camera. Then I left the pedometer on my desk and went to bed. When I got up this morning, it had counted five steps...not unreasonable, because it was in the middle of the living room floor. The temptation of the strap was too much, and now I wonder...should I calibrate it to Skunk's pace?

Western Gull, Larus Occidentalis

Day 111: In the Pacific Northwest, only out-of-staters take pictures of seagulls. Only out-of-staters carry umbrellas, for that matter. Both behaviours mark a person as a little peculiar, an outsider who wouldn't understand the gaffe even if it was explained to them. Consequently, photos of seagulls doing nothing out of the ordinary are few and far between, pigeonholed (forgive me) with pictures of robins and starlings, English sparrows and yes, pigeons. A photo of a seagull gulping down herring may draw something marginally longer than a cursory glance, but even that is quickly passed over by most Pacific Northwesterners as commonplace.

What drew my attention to this bird in the Puyallup River was its abrupt plunge into a pool at the base of a log and the flurry of activity which followed. I presumed it had found a salmon carcass because it was clearly feeding. Once it had satisfied itself, it lifted off only to settle again on a gravel bar in the middle of the river. It seemed to know I was watching it despite the distance between us, so for just a moment, I became a tourist. Well, I suppose my compendium of PNW birds wouldn't be complete without a silly seagull in it!

Grateful For What I Am Given

Day 110: The photo leaves something to be desired, but I am grateful for what I am given. This is the best shot of a Chestnut-Backed Chickadee (Poecile rufescens) I have achieved to date. In my haste to catch him in profile, I focused on the branch rather than the bird.

Chickadees of any sort always seem to elude me. I hear them. I see them darting in amongst thickets and scrub, but I can never get a clear picture. To hear other people talk about them, you would get the impression that they regularly eat out of peoples' hands. In my experience, I've noted them as shy and reclusive. This little fellow hung around the high point in Pack Forest only long enough for three back view poses and this image before he flew off down-valley singing, "Chick-a-dee-dee-dee, you can't catch meeeeee!"

Cutlass

Day 109: "There's t' be no killin,' an' any man wot does will answer t' me, by Gawd! Ye'll lay 'em out in any way ye can, make 'em fast t' summat, an' ye'll leave 'erself t' me!" The fire in Morgan Corbye's eyes glittered with reflection of stars. The winds had borne us to a chance encounter with the Captain's oldest rival, neatly berthed on the opposite side of a small island. The keen eyes of the dog watch had caught the flicker of a lantern in the dark, too high above the water to be coming from a shack or other habitation, and by maneuvering the Winged Adventure so that the faint moonlight favoured us, the Captain picked out the definitive silhouette of a ketch drawn close to shore. We were near enough to her to know that we had not been seen, for had her crew been alert to our presence, a hue and cry would have arisen immediately as the ship so berthed was none other than the Grey Raven and the foe the Captain's own sister Katherine, known also as Kat.

We dropped anchor in the protection of a small bay, lowered the jollyboats alongside and the men slid silently into them, the Captain in the foremost. Neither splash of water nor clatter of arms broke the crystalline bowl of night as the oars slipped into the waves and moved us forward. We hugged the shadows until we were nearly upon her, trusting luck to cover us as we crossed through exposed water. Our agile bo'sun clambered aboard the ketch by the stern, and dropped lines for the remaining men who followed, but before our party had got themselves all up, the shifting of weight brought us unwanted attention. As the crews laid about with whatever weaponry they had to hand, Morgan Corbye cleaved a swath through the melee to face her sister at the helm. Kat Corbye met her twin's dagger with a cutlass, but was taken down by our Captain's nimble swiftness and skill with the knife and was assured a sound sleep of a few hours by a belaying pin applied with force against the side of her head.

Demoralized by the fall of their captain, the Grey Raven's crew surrendered and were bound according to plan. In the light of day, Morgan Corbye stripped to her shirt and leapt overboard, and not an eye failed to follow her lithe form. She swam thrice around the ketch and climbed back aboard, the sea-washed muslin transparent and clinging to her skin. When I questioned her later in regard to the plunge, "T'was fer luck," she told me, adding, "Ed'ard Teach done it wi'out 'is 'ead, they says."

Morgan Corbye claimed nothing but her sister's cutlass from this raid, though blood was spilt on both sides, albeit without any serious injury. "Me prize is wot I done t' 'erself's dignity. Aye, she'll be smartin' frae that 'til we meets again."

Mater's Wrecking Yard

Day 108: A young friend's birthday gave me the opportunity to make a portrait of one of my favorite movie characters. I found him hard at work in his wrecking yard, but quite willing to show me around. Radiator Springs has become a popular destination since Hollywood put it on the map, and of course the additional traffic has led to an upswing in accidents as well. Mater would be more than happy to help you find that used part whether you're driving a Ferarri or a dump truck. Just pull up to the gate and honk!

Handsome Heron

Day 107: For the last couple of weeks, I have been wanting to make a trip down to the Nisqually National Wildlife Refuge, but weather always seemed to present an obstacle. Although the temperature was below freezing this morning, I left home under clear skies, but descended into fog. Knowing that the last 700 feet of the boardwalk would be closed until the end of the month, I almost decided to turn around and put Plan B into action, but a hike in Pack Forest in the fog didn't have much appeal. The fog thinned as I approached the delta, and I was happy to see...to be able to see!...the gazebo at the end of the walkway.

Coming along the trail by the Twin Barns, I spotted Mallards and Buffleheads, a Merganser and a gaggle of Canada Geese, although small birds were not much in evidence. Then my eye was caught by a Peregrine Falcon flying along just above the marsh grass searching for breakfast. I was so intent on the Falcon that I almost walked past the Blue Heron on the opposite side of the path, no more than ten feet from me. When I first noticed the bird, it had its head cocked to the side and one beady eye fixed on something in a clump of grass. My presence on the trail was no deterrent to the Heron's concentration, but I never saw it pick up its prey.

Eagle Rising

Day 106: It was a lovely day to go out for a walk, better than one has a right to expect in January. There are only a few inches of snow on the ground at Longmire, although the last storm dumped an amazing 33" of new snow at Paradise over one night, following 15" on the previous night. Last weekend's blustery and cold weather brought the total to 115" on the ground. That still leaves Mount Rainier substantially behind for the year, particularly at the lower elevations.

But for all the shortage of the white stuff, snow artists are in more plentiful supply this winter. Snowmen and other snow sculptures seem to be springing up in a wide variety of places: the Longmire compound, out along the campground road, even atop two picnic tables at Kautz Creek trailhead. What instinct has spawned this sudden upsurge of creativity? Is it the scarcity of the medium? I can't say, but it does give me a chuckle.

Never Easy

Day 105: It's never easy, the combination of Crow and tech. After spending half an hour figuring out how to transfer songs to my new iPod, I couldn't get them to play. The on-line manual was unreadable, printed so small that it couldn't be seen, and if you zoomed in, the letters fragmented. The cute little leaflet in the box was exceptionally uninformative: "this is your home key...here's where the headphones go...plug the lightning connector in here." Thank you, I'd rather not plug anything into a connection with lightning! Apple's parts names are as skewed as their color perception. This iPod is "yellow." I poked all the screen icons and failed to find anything adjustable, and it was only by accident that my fingers encountered the tiny ridges on the toggleable volume control.

Okay, that hurdle crossed, let's see if we can organize music into playlists. Another hour of wasted time later, I popped a note off to Kevin and asked him to stop by on his way home from work. He's good with this sort of thing. Yep, there was a button I'd missed. He showed me how to set up playlists and I did so gleefully. Then I synchronized the device. The playlists failed to transfer.

Going out for my second walk of the day, I discovered I'd accidentally loaded fifty or so Christmas songs onto the device. It's a little jarring to hear "Good King Wenceslaus" in between "Click Go the Shears" and "The Man from Snowy River," likewise "O Holy Night" doesn't quite fit with "Haul Away for Rosie." Yeah, there's work to be done here. I just wish somebody would print...PRINT, I say!...a set of clear instructions for us old fogeys who don't find technology intuitive.

Stereocaulon Tomentosum, Woolly Foam Lichen

Day 104: My customary route to the top of Hugo Peak goes up the trail and down the road, a clockwise loop of five miles. Today after hiking three miles with a friend, I did a counterclockwise turn just to be different. I'd actually planned to go only as far as Kirkland Pass, but when I arrived at the five-way intersection of Pack Forest roads (not open to the public), Hugo seemed to be calling my name. Eh, what the heck...it's one more mile for the Park fitness challenge.

That benefit aside, walking the loop in the opposite direction allowed me to see things I might otherwise have missed: a mushroom under a branch of salal, a cluster of Cladonias, orange Tremellas on the "back" side of a log. Although there were no surprises, there were bits of flora I hadn't seen since last year, old friends whose doors I've passed by repeatedly without so much as a nod in their direction. I'm a bit ashamed of myself for neglecting to visit these neighbors on the many times I've made the circuit. I need to go backwards more often.

Ohop Valley Barn

Day 103: One of my favorite landmarks, this old barn overlooks a stretch of Ohop Creek which is almost line-straight, its unusual topography the product of an abortive attempt to drain the bottomland for farming. In the early 1900s, settlers here were not concerned with natural runs of salmon and the conditions required to keep them viable. Their thoughts went solely to rending the land dry enough to support the hooves and habits of cattle. They were soon to discover that underlying the surface soil, a thick layer of clay prevented further drainage and consequently, their dreams of a burgeoning agriculture evaporated. In recent years, the Nisqually Land Trust has bought up much of the Ohop, and extensive work has been done to restore the natural meanders. This property is one of the few which remains in private hands. The good news is that the salmon are returning to the creek's lower reaches. Perhaps some day, this area will be added to the Trust's growing list of holdings and restoration projects.

Tortuga Bound!

Day 102: "Heave! Heave, ye moulderin' codfish! H'ist them sails! Th' wind be in our favour an' we be Tortuga bound!" The bo'sun's cry in the night, harsh as the salt-weathered canvas, lifted the spirits of the Winged Adventure's crew as they hauled upon the lines and the sails filled. Morgan Corbye's hand was on the tiller, and not a man would dare to doubt her strength, for all her slightness of stature. The barque sprang forward in the dark, the captain taking her on a tack for speed. The ship pierced the swells like a porpoise, her crew barefoot to a man, the better to grip the deck as she leapt and dove. Your unfortunate biographer had come topside to observe, a decision I was coming to regret, bundled against cold and spray to which the sailors seemed to be impervious. This was no summer zepyhr bearing us along. It was a building storm and the captain was clearly in her element, sweat beading on her brow despite the chill.

By morning, the gale had subsided and the captain relinquished the tiller to her helmsman and went below for some much-needed sleep. I went to my bunk as well, with many thoughts to keep me wakeful, for moreso than the average mariner, the pirate must have exceptional skill at sailing if he is to stay ahead of those who would persecute him. He must be more cunning, more adaptable, stronger and quicker, and he must have greater endurance. Too, he must be a better swordsman than his foe if he is to survive and succeed. Yet what brings a person so gifted to the life of piracy instead of normal business? I turn to Captain Corbye for the answer: "I needs me adventure an' independence," says she, and none can claim she goes without either in any degree.

The Great Equalizer

Day 101: A windstorm blew my power away yesterday and brought the residents of the house as close together as they ever get. I see photos of other peoples' cats snuggled up together and often wonder why mine can't come to terms. There will be the occasional whisker contact, but it nearly always ends with a hiss from Skunk, as if she feels a need to reinforce that she is mistress of the household. Tip would cuddle if she would allow it, but Skunk came up the hard way, fighting off a pair of savage dogs when she was only six weeks old. It has only been in her later years that she will even accept physical contact with me. That said, the fire brings these two to an accord. They agree that warmth is a Good Thing. As truces go, it's a good beginning.

Distant Civilizations

Day 100: Forget mathematical formulae, recordings of whale voices and models of the hydrogen atom. Open the avenue for communication with a bar of chocolate! This scrumptious morsel (all 250 grams of it) came to me from the alien world of New Zealand in the hands of one of my Park colleagues. She brought back a selection and allowed members of the staff to take their pick. With a goodly supply of dark choccie in my larder, I went for macadamia over mint. You can bank on one thing: it'll be gone at warp speed!

Nose-and-Eyelashes Snow

Day 99: It's not uncommon to see groups of Parkies walking the campground loop at Longmire on their lunch hours in all sorts of weather. After all, we're an exercise-oriented lot. However, now that the winter Fitness Challenge is on, neither rain, nor snow, nor sleet, nor hail will keep rangers from their appointed rounds. Each one of us who is participating in the Challenge is committed to chalk up the aerobic equivalent of 100 miles between January 7 and March 30, competing against other parks in the region. Some people participate as individuals, while others form teams of no more than eleven. A team must contribute at least 1200 miles to qualify. I joined the Wanderers, the Interpretive Division team.

Today, one of my colleagues (a fellow Wanderer) suggested a walk to the back gate, never mind that it was snowing. It was a delightful fall..."snowflakes that stay on your nose and eyelashes" snow; soft, tickly snow, a drier snow than the usual Pacific Northwest slop, and it kept up steadily until we were back inside the building, resuming our daily tasks. We walked three miles, Kristyn and I, laughing and chatting while keeping up a good aerobic pace, following the footsteps of some other walker determined to get their mileage for the day. Exercise done in good company puts the lie to "no pain, no gain," and almost seems like it shouldn't count.

Ornithological Philately

Day 98: Issued in 1981, the "State Birds" postage stamps were extremely popular both for mailings and with collectors. Although my maternal grandmother was an avid philatelist, I was too practical to follow in her footsteps but for this one notable exception: I purchased a full sheet of 50 for a mere $10 and tucked them away in my "collectible paper" box, not as an investment but as a sort of philatelic field guide.

Even more than with state flowers, you will find a number of shared species. For example, the Cardinal is jointly claimed by Illinois, Indiana, Kentucky, North Carolina, Ohio, Virginia and West Virginia. Some states are either indecisive or bold enough to "own" more than one State Bird (alternates were not included in the stamp issue). Washington's State Bird is listed as the "Willow Goldfinch," a distinction from the American Goldfinch which is not recognized in ornithological circles. Carduelis tristis (the same little yellow and black bird) is also the State Bird of Iowa and New Jersey.

If there's a lesson to be learned from this dissertation, it's that politicians ought to keep their fingers out of ornithology. While the concept of State Birds is an enjoyable one, it could have been executed in a more educational manner, depicting birds which were more or less unique to a region.

Lone Willow, Four Seasons

Day 97: The Lone Willow stands in an open pasture at the bottom of the hill, just off Hwy 161 south of the town of Graham, obvious to anyone travelling either direction. I'm sure most drivers notice it, but how many observe its seasonal changes? After it lost a major limb during an ice storm, I decided to make it the subject of a nature-mapping project before its graceful shape could be further altered by the elements. A convenient telephone pole allowed me to situate myself in approximately the same position each time I visited the tree, and a little cropping and straightening adjusted any inequities. These photos were taken in the first week of May, the last week of July, mid-November and today (January 7, 2014).

While the Lone Willow and I are friends of many years' standing, I feel I've become more keenly acquainted with it over the last year. I'd hoped to capture it in a snowy setting, but alas, when the snow comes to Flatland, it's deeper here and I do not venture out of my driveway.

Tapped

Day 96: A few months ago, I turned on the kitchen cold tap, filled the cats' water dish and shut it off again. The water kept running. It was just a trickle, but I could not make it shut off no matter how many times I opened and closed the tap. I'm sure I must have rolled my eyes as I swore, but for some reason, my hand strayed to the HOT tap and opened it. When I shut it off, the trickle stopped. I tried to duplicate the phenomenon with no luck and things went smoothly for a couple of weeks until it happened again: I turned the cold on and off, a trickle ran, and only stopped when I opened and closed the hot tap.

It didn't happen consistently, and there was no pattern to when it might occur...no association with high or low water pressure, nor with the pump cycling on. It occurred randomly, and days might go by before it happened again, but one day, the sporadic spouting took an even stranger twist when running water in the bathtub caused the hot to flow.

Having done my share of plumbing and not wishing to venture into those rough waters again, I asked a friend to look at it. The misbehaving tap obligingly performed its curious malfunction right before his eyes. Likewise, when I had a contractor in for a different issue, he also witnessed the peculiar behaviour and diagnosed the problem as a bad fixture. Based on his expert opinion, I purchased a new faucet and another friend volunteered to install it.

Plumbing is always fraught with unpleasant surprises, and it made no exception to that rule today. Ronnie shut off the water at the valves and as he unscrewed the flexible hose, he got a faceful of water. The valve would not close completely. I manned the bucket brigade as Ronnie completed the installation (one nut didn't want to unscrew). The flunky fixture is no more and the mysterious cold/hot connection is resolved, but he plans to come back when the weather gets warmer to replace the valve.

Pour Man's Macro Lens

Day 95: "Don't get too excited when you see the box," Jean said to me as I began to unwrap the gift she had just handed me. As someone who saves small cardboard boxes for future packaging, I assumed she meant that she'd reused one, but when I saw "EF 25-105 mm," I had a flashback to another friend's birthday party and the brief expression of "Wow!" I'd seen in his eyes before he realized he'd been gulled by his wife. As I finished tearing off the paper, I burst out laughing. I knew that the box was indeed the original packaging, and that what it held was a thermal mug. I must know half a dozen photographers who have the same "lens." Jean, you didn't fool me for a second!

Haven In The Hawthorn

Day 94: You'd think Robin Red-Breast would freeze his little gizzard gulping down icy hawthorn berries, but as I watched, this bird swallowed at least half a dozen, rolling them around in his beak to knock off the larger bits of ice. It was party time in the hawthorn, Robins competing with Steller's Jays for their breakfast fruit. Oddly, the birds leave the tree alone until the temperatures plummet. Perhaps these berries are the avian slant on frozen dessert.

"About A Million Marbles"

Day 93: My cousin Toni surprised me this year with a Christmas gift of a 500-piece jigsaw puzzle entitled "About a Million Marbles." I cringed inwardly at the age of it, fearing missing pieces. "Eh, I'll put it together once anyway," I said to myself, and dragged out the card table and the cookie sheets and proceeded to lay out every piece rightside-up. The edge went together in about an hour, and by bedtime, I had a few pieces added to the next row in. That was my plan of attack: start from the edge and work in, because there was no hope of trying the old "put the blue bits together first" method.

New Year's Day saw me out on the trail, leaving only an hour or so in the evening to resume puzzling, but yesterday, I settled in shortly after breakfast and worked all day...no exaggeration, all frigging day!...and an hour past the time when I usually retire. I was positive I'd found several places where a piece was missing. I cannot abide a missing puzzle piece, but I'd vowed to complete it, and complete it I would. This morning, with about 100 pieces still on the cookie sheets, I began again. The longer I worked, the more convinced I became that some pieces were gone, but because it was marbles...and we all know how much I like marbles...I was thinking that if it was only missing one, perhaps two pieces, I'd keep it anyway and label the box accordingly.

I wasn't counting empty holes (impossible anyway due to the irregularly shaped pieces), and as I got down to the last dozen, I was still convinced some were missing. Ten...nine...eight...seven...six...five...what the hell? I had four pieces left and only three open spots! I ran my hands over the surface and discovered one more open space I hadn't seen. Four...three...two...one...DONE!

I love jigsaw puzzles. I love HARD jigsaw puzzles (complex patterns and "monochrome" color schemes), but not gimmicky ones (same picture printed on both sides, and so on). My usual preference is for 1000-piece or greater, but in this case, I'm quite content with a mere 500 pieces. This one goes on my shelf of favorites, for sure!

Thanks to the addition of the cat's-eyes accenting the puzzle (a gift from my sister-of-the-heart, Patty), my personal collection now holds 3817 marbles and weighs about 50 pounds. While that's not even close to a million marbles, I'm hoping to bring the total to 5000 some day.

Peltigera Paradise

Day 92: I'm sure a few of my readers have been wondering if I'd lost interest in lichens, but no, the reason I haven't posted any photographs of them is that they were rather under par in 2013. Our rainfall for the year was within the average range, but perhaps the few dry spells we had stretched on a bit too long. Even after the autumn rains had begun, they still looked dry and withered. But you can't keep a good lichen down, as this specimen of Peltigera leucophlebia (Ruffled Freckled Pelt) attests.

Starting The New Year Off Right

Day 91: I waited for it to warm up to 35° before heading off to climb Hugo Peak. I've been "off" Pack Forest for a while after picking up five ticks on a hike early last summer, but I figured they'd have a hard time route-finding through the layers of clothes I was wearing. Even so, as soon as I got home, I showered and threw the clothes in the washer.

In over fifty years of rambling through the forests of the Pacific Northwest, the first time I found a tick on me was just six or seven years ago. Since that day, not a single year has gone by that I didn't "collect" at least one. Five on one hike set a new record, one I am not looking forward to meeting or beating. The environments where I've encountered them have been varied: dry-grass prairie, damp forest, even in my own yard. I've not yet heard any reliable reports of them in Mount Rainier National Park, but I figure it's just a matter of time before they're transported there on the backs of deer and elk.

That said, my hike today seems to have been tick-free and very enjoyable. The air was a bit nippy for bare hands, but I soon dispensed with my jacket, keeping my head warm with the woolly Alpine Topper pulled down to cover my ears. Several Pacific Wrens were seen darting around in the brush beside the trail and a Douglas squirrel scolded me for trespassing on his territory. Predictably, there were also a few other like-minded hikers chose to bring in the New Year in the same way I did: walking in the glorious green forest.