Nature's Lace

Day 108: A few walks ago, I noticed a connector trail to Mashel Falls forking off just past the western bridge of Eatonville's new Bud Blancher Trail. I'd started up it, but soon discovered that it was too muddy for sport shoes, so retreated and put it on my "later" list. Today I returned, this time wearing hiking boots, and it was a good thing I did. The mud was slick and ankle-deep in places. After having passed through several particularly slippery sections, I started thinking about what it would be like on the return trip, and consequently changed my plans, opting to make a longer loop hike rather than risk falling in the slop.

Halfway up, another spur branched off at an intersection I recognized as the trail to the falls. Having been there before, I knew that it is always a muddy mess even under optimal summer conditions. Considering what I'd come through already, good sense dictated foregoing a trip to the falls. In any event, I'd been there, done that, and wasn't particularly impressed. There had also been a bit of a fib in the weather forecast, and what should have been sunny and fiftyish was foggy and hovering near forty. My proposed four-mile hike had doubled in distance, and I was wishing I'd worn one more layer. I returned via the 1000 Road, connecting with the Bud Blancher Trail at the far west end. As luck would have it, I was almost back to the car when the persistent fog lifted, allowing me only about half a mile under sun.

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.