Happy Earth Day!

Day 191: Happy Earth Day! With the possibility of showers in the forecast, I stuffed my new day-pack accordingly and set out for Pack Forest, intending to hike the 200-300 Rds. as an invasive-plant patrol. The loop I had charted out required very little backtracking and measured out at four miles, an easy walk, although portions of the route had become quite brushed in by Scotch broom (that's one). For the first part, the road lies beneath the high-tension lines from the hydro plant at LaGrande, a swathe liberally filled with common tansy (that's two) and foxglove (that's three). The occasional holly tree (that's four) crops up between evergreens. At its intersection with the 300, the 200 continues on to the river, but my goal was to complete the 300 loop. Here, the broom had encroached heavily onto the first quarter mile of road since I last walked it three years ago, but once into the reprod (reproduction forest), I found it largely carpeted with moss. At the furthest possible point from the car as measured by my GPS, a few raindrops tapped me on the head as I knelt down to photograph Snow Queens. "Of course!" I said. "It couldn't have happened any other way!" But the shower was short-lived, and I completed the top of the figure-8 trail wet only where my trousers had collected moisture as I pushed through the Scotch broom. A short section of the main road was lined on both sides with Stinky Bob (that's five) and in one spot, a mass of Spanish hyacinth (that's six), and the last leg of the hike took me into a section I'd never visited before. The only invasive present there was Scotch broom, in places so dense that it had crowded out everything else. That said, I met some friends along the way: two snails, one cow elk, and a chickadee I could have sworn knew me from home for the way he tagged along at my side for several hundred yards. Nature provides such rewards as these for those who are kind to her and her creatures. Walk softly in the woods.

Inside Job

Day 152: The last several times I've been here, I've been there: out on the Cispus Arm above Lake Scanewa, paddling my kayak and patrolling for invasives. It made me think that I might not have done a survey for lichens on the faint trail I remembered as following the shoreline bluff eastward for a mile and a half, a perfect route for "social distancing" if ever there was one. I drove over to Scanewa yesterday expecting to find the last mile gated, but it was not. The parking area was empty. I'd gone less than fifty feet into the woods when I encountered the first evidence of winter storms, and the further I went, the more deadfall I found across the trail. Finally, a mere half mile in, I wearied of weaseling through tangled branches, mince-stepping through mazes of fir boughs and dead wood, and when I could no longer see any trace of the trail ahead of me, I said (in no uncertain terms), "Screw this!" I took a short connector on the way back, took photos of a few fungi I figured I'd never be able to identify, and then set off to walk a second trail leading north from the parking area. It too was inaccessible, overgrown with blackberry bushes. My third and last option heading west petered out in deadfall roughly a quarter mile in. Given the few pictures I'd taken and a cheering but disappointing result from searching for invasives (there were none), I wrote the whole trip off as "pointless." At home, I had to revise that opinion. Settling in with the field guides, I managed to identify all four species of fungus and lichen which I'd photographed, including a Cladonia. Not so pointless after all!

Erythronium Oregonum, Giant White Fawn-Lily

Day 202: Well, I did a double-take. "That's not an Avalanche Lily! What the hell...? Is that a Trout?" In the end, it proved to be Erythronium oreganum, commonly known as Giant White Fawn-Lily, but closely akin to both Avalanche and Trout Lilies and something I had never before seen. I was out on an invasive-plant patrol in the undeveloped Rimrock County Park. It's a lovely place for hiking in solitude, although the peace is frequently broken by the sounds of rifle fire from the local gun club, but I am willing to endure that in order to have the woods to myself. Besides, they're over a hill from the trail system and pose no danger to someone walking on the back side. So, like I said, I did a double-take. The mottled leaves told me it was no Avalanche Lily, nor would I have been likely to find them at such a low elevation. "Trout" and "Fawn" tend to follow some pretty indistinct rules in the application of common names to the Erythroniums, so being a fisherman, those speckly leaves led me to spend the rest of the day saying, "Trouts! I found Trouts!" Well, in between bending over to pull Digitalis and Tansy Ragwort, anyway. A "life list" plant is a pretty good reward for pulling weeds.

Profiling Tussilago Farfara

Day 196: I was expecting to find the Usual Suspects during an invasive-plant patrol of Tilton River State Park two days ago. In patrols lower down the Tilton, I've found Japanese Knotweed and hybrid Knapweeds in abundant supply. I was not expecting to find Tussilago farfara, a relatively new invasive in western Washington, and one which we discovered in Mount Rainier National Park only a couple of years ago. That find was the first for Pierce County.

Tilton River State Park is undeveloped and has but a single unmaintained trail leading from Hwy 508 to the river. A plaque marks its establishment at a potholed one-car pullout beside the road. You'd miss it if you didn't know it was there. As such, it's quiet during most seasons, a private place to enjoy a quiet moment beside the river. The sandbar at the end of the trail is sullied by a few fire rings created by fishermen and (illegal) campers, but most notably, by the Knotweed which plagues much of the Tilton's run. Since I had not done a formal weed patrol here, I thought I should document the problem. My eye was set for the weeds I expected and predictably, I found them, but then as I turned to go back out on the trail, I saw the Tussilago, growing sporadically in an area roughly 50' in diameter. Experience with the species in the Park has taught me that it's almost impossible to eradicate by pulling or digging; every fragment of stolon is capable of generating a whole new plant. I was left with only one option: record it and report it to shift the onus of responsibility to Washington State Parks. Occurring here as it does, it has the potential to spread down-river into areas not accessible by the public, and may develop into a major issue unless property owners can be educated. Tussilago farfara is the "new kid on the block," just listed by the state in March 2018. In fact, one of my photos appears in King County's "Noxious Weeds" blog.

The Usual Suspects

Day 163: My starting point isn't shown on this map, being some miles off to the left, but the coloured pins indicate locations where I spotted the Usual Suspects in my invasive-plant patrol of the 1300, 1330 and 2500 Rds., areas which I had not previously covered. The species are common: English Holly (Ilex aquifolium, of particular concern to Pack management), Foxglove (Digitalis purpurea) and Tansy Ragwort (Senecio jacobaea). Invasive though they may be, the state requires control of only one of them (Tansy), and that because of its potential to kill livestock and therefore, its economic impact. It's always about the money. Always.

Let me explain a little about the classification of "noxious weeds" (read, "invasive plants"). Washington state classifies them in three categories: A, B and C. Class A plants are recent invaders. They haven't been here long enough to be a major problem, but they have the potential. Class A noxious weeds must, by law, be controlled by property owners. Likewise, Class B invasives by law require control, but they are species which are already prevalent in some portions of the state. The guiding methodology in this case is to work toward eradication while limiting their spread to other unaffected locales.

Now we come to Class C noxious weeds like Digitalis and English Holly. They are quite widespread and very common. Control of these species drops from state jurisdiction to that of individual counties. Control may or may not be required. Most counties opt for a program of education, i.e., offering land owners the opportunity to learn more about the harmful effects of these plants on the overall ecology. Yeah, right. We all see how well that's working, don't we? Even Pack Forest (part of the University of Washington's forestry program) has been disinclined to take appropriate steps to eliminate these weeds.

The war against Class C invasives can be won, although it may seem like trying to dip the ocean dry with a teaspoon. For example, if every person in the state removed one dozen Himalayan Blackberry plants, it wouldn't make a dent in the overall view. Still, organizations like the Nisqually Land Trust have been quite successful in clearing Himalayan Blackberry from many of their properties with the help of volunteers. While Pack Forest has focused on ridding their sustainable-forestry plots of English Holly, they're allowing Tansy and Digitalis to spread unchecked along roadsides and in clearcuts. Their lack of environmental responsibility makes me angry. I'd expected better of my neighbours.

Long Walk For The View

Day 159: Okay, there was a shorter way to reach this spot, but I prefer to park where there's some security against a car break-in. Consequently, I began my day's adventure at Pack Forest's "campus" (the complex of buildings which houses offices, equipment sheds, a greenhouse, a small convention hall, etc.). And to be honest about it, I was really only planning to do the five-mile loop of the 1000 Rd., but then I thought I might be able to find some Snow Queens (add a mile detour), and then when I got back to Kirkland Pass and started down Butterfly Alley, I really didn't feel like I'd put in a good day's walk. The 1300 Rd. looked tempting. I'd only been up it once, and that, at least a decade ago. Okay, I can make the trip do double-duty by making an invasive-plant patrol out of an extended trek.

Pack Forest's best view of Mount Rainier is out a spur road (the 1330), just beyond three cell phone towers which are visible from Eatonville. It's also just about as far from campus parking as it's possible to get on an east-west axis. When did I ever let a little thing like that stop me? It's just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other one, right? Well, there was a little backtrack involved when I forgot to waypoint a nasty infestation of English holly (something Pack particularly wants us to hunt down), but I eventually got to the cell towers and the view. Now what? Do I go down the short way and continue back to the campus on the remaining stretch of the 1000 loop, or do I take my chances with the 1300 Rd., hoping that it will come out where I think it does? At that point, I said to self with appropriate harshness and reproach, "You shoulda brought the bloody MAP!" Well, yes, but I hadn't been planning to make a major expedition out of the project when I'd left the car.

Turns out the 1300 was quite a bit longer than I'd expected because it joined up with the 2500 for a couple of miles. By the time I'd connected to the 2000 Rd., my dogs were barking. I don't usually get sore feet, but the weather was unseasonably warm (read, "too damn hot to be hiking") and I'd worn the Gore-tex boots which don't breathe nearly as well as the promotional materials would have you believe. With wool socks added to the equation, my footsies were overheating. At the junction with the 2000 Rd., I resigned myself to the consequences of having three miles left to go to get back to the car and, to add insult to injury, I was retracing the steps I'd taken to check on the Snow Queens. By the end of the day, I'd put in twelve miles, climbed at least two more hills than I'd intended, and had 15 instances of invasives to report, a process which ate an hour of my evening. Y'know, I really feel like I deserved that bowl of ice cream I stopped for on the way home.

Identifying Arctium Lappa

Day 8: There are two species of Burdock in Washington state, Arctium lappa (Large Burdock) and Arctium minus (Small Burdock). These plants originated in Europe and Asia where they were cultivated for their edible roots. Both species have become problematic outside their native regions and are considered invasive here. They like nitrogen-rich soils, so I was rather surprised to find two specimens in the forested area where I was hiking yesterday. Since the heads needed to be disposed of in a manner which would prevent the seeds from developing (something which may occur even after a plant has been uprooted), I bagged them and brought them home. This also allowed me to examine the plant so I could determine which species I'd found. Arctium lappa's petioles (the "stem" connecting the leaf to the main stalk) have distinct ridges as shown in the inset; those of A. minus do not. As I've seen on the Nisqually Land Trust's Ohop Valley property, Large Burdock can turn into a ten-foot tall bush. Fortunately, the two specimens I removed were only 12-18" in height, but both had numerous burrs. The trail on which they were found is open to horses, so I am inclined to think that the species was inadvertently introduced to the area by burrs or seeds carried in a hoof or saddle blanket. Many invasives are spread by accident; hikers should always "de-seed" their clothing and boots before entering a new area.

At Buck's Crossing

Day 7: I'm glad I didn't file a flight plan because once again, where I intended to go and where I wound up were about two trail miles apart. In the process of getting to and from Sahara Creek Camp (the eventual turn-around point of today's adventure), what was intended to be a casual hike mutated into an invasive-plant patrol. Instead of doing three miles, I did seven, and found two specimens of Great Burdock (Arctium lappa), something I have not seen previously at this elevation or on forested land. I also filled my perhaps-bag with chanterelles on the way back down, and I'm still puzzling as to how I walked right past them in the morning. I'll blame it on the beautiful golden light filtering through the maples; that, or perhaps the depth of crunchy maple leaves on the ground. In an amusing side note, the elastic waistband of my britches failed unexpectedly, and I did the last two miles of the hike holding my trousers up with one hand. Never a dull moment around here!

Rimrocks

Day 6: It's been years since I hiked in this undeveloped county park. The last time I was here, I was geocaching with Kevin and as we were on our way up the trail, hoping for a "first to find," Kevin's phone rang. It was another geocaching friend who was hoping to meet up with us to go for the cache in honour of his birthday. Kevin and I immediately turned around and hiked back down to meet him on the lower trail. We found the cache, and I had not been back to Rimrock Park since, except to pick holly off a bush growing by the side of the road. That bush inspired today's trip. If there was one holly (and a berry-bearing one at that), there were bound to be others. Anybody sense an invasive plant report coming up here? You're right. That said, the only nasties I found were all holly, and only the one was in fruit. However, there were branches of the trail which I'd never explored, and heading off toward the gun club and the sound of rifle fire, I found this exquisite view of the Rimrocks. There are two questions for which I need answers. First, how was this formation made? Second, how did the high schoolers get up there to emblazon one face with E for Eatonville? I ran out of trail going either way. There must be a secret (and probably illegal) way to the top.

Toadstool Territory

Day 356: Easily the most recognizable mushroom in the world, featured in faerie tale books and video games, Amanita muscaria has a dangerous beauty. Like other Amanitas, it contains alkaloids which affect liver and kidney function, a warning which I'm sure some old hippies are now wishing they'd heeded instead of ingesting the mushroom in order to obtain its hallucinogenic effects. Best to appreciate this one where it stands, folks. It'll get you in the end. That said, muscaria is gorgeous, and I have seldom seen as textbook-perfect specimens as I found during an invasive-plant patrol yesterday. Typically, this "toadstool" has a bright red cap, although older specimens may fade to golden or pale yellow. The spots wash off with rain, but the annulus (a ring of tissue around the stem which is visible in fully open individuals) is a good indicator of genus.

Now a bit of back-story...when my husband and I were preparing to move onto his grandparent's homestead property near Olympia, we did a patrol of the acreage to see what issues might be hiding in the timber. We came upon a picture-perfect grouping of muscaria at the edge of the woods, and immediately decided to call the ranch "Toadstool Acres." The land grew several species of Amanita, but the only consistent crop of edible fungus it produced were delicate puffballs. Puffballs are quite tasty (although the species we had required "shelling" like a hard-boiled egg), but they are easy to confuse with young, unopened muscaria. Before I could fry up a batch, each puffball had to be cut in two vertically to check for the telltale outline of a muscaria's stem and cap. Puffballs are a uniform texture throughout. There's a reason one local mycological society used to hold an annual "Survivors' Banquet." Many mushrooms don't give you the opportunity to make a second mistake. Even those which don't outright kill you may have long-term consequences.

With A Teaspoon

Day 329: My day had only just begun when I took this photo, and by the time it ended, I had packed the bow of the kayak so full of Lake St. Clair's Jewelweed that I barely had room for my feet and gear. Given that in one small corner of the lake the infestation covers more than an acre of shoreline, I feel like I'm dipping the ocean dry with a teaspoon. That said, I'm winning in a couple of spots, doing a "maintenance run" on them whenever I go out, pulling any stragglers or new growth. I've singlehandedly rescued one log from the evil weed, and have a fifty-foot stretch of shoreline almost free of the nasty stuff. Do I have enough years left to me to clean the lake? I sincerely doubt it, not even if I worked 365 days a year. Call it a "permanent job," if you will.

What to do today was a toss between kayaking and chanterelling, having had a report of "mountain gold" from Arnie. Wildfire smoke kept me housebound for most of August, and there was still too much in the air today for me to think about hiking up one lesser-known and very steep trail after mushrooms, so I loaded the 'yak on the car and took off for Lake St. Clair, honestly only intending to paddle a bit, visit the Sundews and come home. Consequently, I forgot to put a weed bag in the 'yak, an omission which left me prime prey for ants and spiders by the hundred. They like Jewelweed. And I won't say the evil weed is without purpose. An inadvertent encounter with a patch of nettles provided an opportunity for scientific study. Jewelweed is purported to be good against poison oak/ivy, and a previous nettling during a weed patrol had made me wonder if I hadn't reacted as strongly because I was already covered with the sap. When I got my arm in the nettle patch today, I immediately rubbed the spot with a crushed Jewelweed leaf. Voila! Instant relief! Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to work against ant and spider bites.

IPC Bud Blancher Hike

Day 289: The Invasive Plant Council took a hike on Eatonville's Bud Blancher Trail today, which is to say that Program Coordinator Lisa Zander and I had a grand time hacking chicory, pulling tansy, documenting lactuca and knapweed in addition to subsidiary duties like visiting lower Mashel Falls, playing with frogs and taking a relaxing dunk in the Mashel River. We made a 9-mile loop out of it per Lisa's phone app, climbing on up past the falls to Pack Forest's road system, returning along the north boundary and passing through Smallwood Park. As for anyone else who signed on for the hike and failed to show up, you don't know what you missed!

Busman's Holiday

Day 281: It's been years since I hiked in to Packwood Lake, and I'd been thinking it needed a patrol for invasives, so I got my gear together Wednesday night, ready to hit the trail in the cool of the morning. I arrived at the trailhead at 8:30, and there was just enough chill in the air to leave my fingers feeling tingly, i.e., perfect hiking conditions as far as I'm concerned. The trail gains a little over 1500' in 4.5 miles, so gentle that in my definition that it might as well be called "flat." Add to that the fact that for the most part it is hard-packed soil with very few rocks or roots to trip over, and you have an easy, pleasant hike with a lovely reward at the end.

Or do you? I arrived at the lake in just under two hours, even though I'd stopped to take pictures on the way. I definitely did not feel like I was "halfway,"my customary criterion for turning back toward home. I eyeballed the far end...never been to the far end...looks like maybe a mile? US Forest Service is notorious for not posting distances, only nasty warnings saying that even day-use hikers must have a free permit (self-registration) or face a $100 fine. Permit? NOW you tell me I need a permit when I'm 4.5 miles in? There had been nothing at the #78 trailhead, but the #78 trailhead is not situated in wilderness. I had the feeling I'd missed something, so when two hikers came by going the other way, I asked them how the system was employed. They told me the box with the permits was further up the trail.

In hindsight, if I'd shot a waypoint to the far end, I probably would have turned around there and found some other way to fill the rest of my afternoon. As it was, I set off merrily pointed at the south end of the lake and expecting to arrive there after a little more than a mile. After twenty minutes or so, I found the permit box, but the end of the lake didn't seem as close as I felt it might have done. However, the feeling that I'd now fulfilled my legal obligation by filling out the permit and attaching it to my pack, I was determined to go the distance, however far it might be. Approximately 2.5 trail miles from the north end, I arrived at my goal. My proposed 9-mile hike had turned into a 14-miler. That's typical of Crow-style hiking: go until you're "halfway," take a five-minute break and start back.

The boggy south end yielded up a surprise: Myosotis, aka forget-me-nots, my invasive "score" for the day. At least I'd found something besides a couple of thistles. On my way back, a woman camper from California stopped to talk, curious about what I was so intent on photographing on the end of a log (a future post...patience, Grasshoppers!), and when she found out I'd been looking for invasives, she told me she thought she'd seen a small piece of Poison Oak. She continued back toward her camp, but was only gone for a few minutes, returning with the news that she'd re-found the plant and asked me to take a look. It wasn't typical of the species and I didn't feel confident in making a determination, but definitely sported the dreaded "leaves of three." I took photos and coordinates and have sent the image off to get a second opinion. It would be very unusual to see it this far inland in Washington, and especially at an altitude of almost 3000'.

When I got back to the north end of the lake, I took a somewhat longer break to dangle my feet in that wonderfully chilly water before starting the final 4.5 mile plod back to the car. What do rangers do when they're not working? Hike, of course! My "busman's holiday" was delightful, and now I know what's it's like on the farthest shore.

UPDATE: mystery plant confirmed as Toxicodendron diversilobum. I have never seen it at this altitude west of the Cascade Crest. That said, it is native to the state and therefore not considered invasive.

The Stoopidest Trail

Day 189: Yesterday, I did an 11-mile invasive plant patrol in Pack Forest and took the opportunity to explore a brand-new trail which was apparently laid in over the winter. I'd noticed it on my last trip up, but didn't have time to explore. I theorized that it might be a new route to Windy Ridge, since it started about 500' from Kirkland Pass on the west side of the 2000 Rd. The old Windy Ridge trail has had issues with small blowdown over the last few years, so it seemed logical that they might have established the new trail where the forest was more stable. Indeed, the trail climbed up from the west 2000 Rd., gaining 150-200' before levelling out about a quarter mile in. Then, to my surprise, it started back down again. Expecting only a small elevation loss, I continued on, but it kept going down and sure enough, it debouched onto the EAST 2000 Rd. about 200' shy of Kirkland Pass. I'd made a half-mile detour and got nothing for my pains...no new lichens, not even an invasive! Shaking my head in bewilderment, when I walked past the trailhead on the west 2000 to continue on my adventure, I addressed it, "Fool me twice, shame on me! Not gonna happen again." Why did they go to the work of putting this trail in? Practice? Stoopid idea, if you ask me.

You don't go very fast when you have to stop every 50 feet or so to take a GPS reading and jot something down in your field notebook. I quickly tired of marking every instance of Digitalis purpurea (Foxglove, to most of you) and shortcut my entries by saying, "Sporadic occurrences of species from waypoint 200' south." Even so, I had almost 30 instances to put in my report (map, right), and it took me over an hour to write up. The issues were not all Digitalis, although the species accounted for roughly 80% of the total report; other invasives noted were Tansy Ragwort, English Ivy and English Holly.

My original plan had been to complete a particular loop off the 2300 Rd. (it branches off the 2000 Rd.), but when I reached the spur I'd intended to take, I found it signed as closed for logging operations. That's one of the problems with Pack Forest: it's "multiple use," and of course it's the University of Washington's Center for Sustainable Forestry. Much of the forest consists of plots where different management practices are put into effect. With the loop closed, I chose instead to continue on to "Pack Peak," the true high point of Pack Forest (not Hugo Peak, as many people believe). I took lunch there, and then swung back to take the Windy Ridge trail...the real Windy Ridge trail, which doesn't connect to the Stoopidest Trail at all.

Fruitless Loop

Day 158: Like a frootloop, I decided to go for a hike today even though I went to Morris dance practice last night and didn't get home until midnight. Now that I have a (damn) Discover pass, I no longer have to walk two and a half miles up the road to get into the Nicholson Horse Trails system. I can just drive up and park! Theoretically, this means I should be able to hike farther on trail, but today I inadvertently took a different trail than I'd intended and wound up having to loop back on a connector which rather diminished my enthusiasm for the project. It was a fruitless loop, one with no interesting lichens, no lovely wildflowers other than a few Oxalis which weren't open, and (good-news/bad-news) no invasives to report. Still, it was good to be out, and the trails were drier than they usually are at this time of year. Lowland hikes are not my favourites, but somebody has to be on the lookout for invasive species.

Quest For World Domination

Day 154: Yesterday's foray was all about Skunk Cabbage, but it was a short-term mission and I needed some way to fill the rest of the day. Since I'd decided to invest in a Discover Pass which allows me access to state parks, I thought I'd do a land survey of Ike Kinswa. My previous surveys of the area have all been done by kayak. That said, before I left the Swofford Pond area, I decided to check on a nasty infestation of Yellow Archangel at the boat launch. The land managers have been trying to eradicate it since I first alerted them to its presence a few years ago. Unfortunately, the stuff is amazingly hard to wipe out and spreads like wildfire unless it is hit hard and on a regular basis. Sure enough, the 3000-square foot patch is taking off again, bad news which gave me cause to file another report with the Invasive Plant Council.

At Ike Kinswa, I found some digitalis (foxglove) along the roadside. This wasn't unexpected, and it's much easier to control. The first shocker came when I got to the highway and saw Vinca minor which had been deliberately planted beneath the park's entrance sign. It had escaped from the landscaping and was moving into the forest. A grounds-maintenance person was on staff, so I mentioned it to her before continuing along the Mayfield Lake Trail. Oh, but what a nightmare I found there! However the plant may have crossed the highway (subsurface runners, seed, fragments caught in someone's boot or tires), the invasion force was hard at work. I mapped approximately 30,000 square feet of Vinca minor, so aggressive that it is even overwhelming the Himalayan blackberries.

The real mind-boggler is this: nurseries in Washington are still allowed to sell both of these virulent invasive groundcovers, and they do so, touting the plants' ability to "suppress weeds." Those words alone should be a warning to anyone with half a brain. Both of these plants are extremely difficult to remove once they become established, so if you have them in your yard and don't intend to live forever to maintain them in a confined space, get rid of them NOW!

No Parking

Day 148: You know what they say about "best laid plans." Well, I arrived at Pack Forest at 10 AM while the frost was still on the lichens, and was shocked to find that trailhead parking was full! I have never seen Pack's parking maxed out before, not even on a nice summer weekend. My first thought was profane and concluded with, "Well, now what am I gonna do?" My next thought was, "Damn, I don't want to be stepping on peoples' toes on the trail. Maybe now is the time to explore that side trail nobody ever takes off Bud Blancher." Yeah, I'd probably have to shoulder people out of the way for the first two miles, but then I should be able to find a little solitude. Not much of a Plan, but it was better than turning around and going home in a huff.

I had no idea where that side trail might emerge onto a recognizable route, but there isn't much of Pack I haven't explored. After I'd gone half a mile through forest, I came to a grassed-over spur road. I had a feeling I knew which one it was, and sure enough, in another half mile, I stepped out onto the familiar North 1000. I'd already managed to find some invasives and had marked them with the GPSr, intending to file a report when I got home, so I thought I'd continue on a little ways. I should know me better...a "little ways" meant taking the Wildlife Trail and the Reservoir Trail to emerge at Kirkland Pass and then...well, I was almost there already...another mile to where the Snow Queens grow. My hike (originally intended to be eight miles) manifested as eleven miles in the end result. Yes, I found more invasives, and yes, I found the Snow Queens. I was quite pleased with the way the day had turned out, especially since I only really saw PEOPLE while I was on the 1000 Road.

I got home, drew the coordinates from the GPSr in preparation for writing an invasive-plant report. I turned on the computer, and was surprised to find in my email a letter from the very people who would be receiving said report. To my great delight, the letter informed me that I had again been chosen to receive the Sarah Reichard Hike the Extra Mile Award for 2017! The award includes a $50 gift certificate from REI. Now I am really a happy camper!

Paddling Tilton Canyon

Day 324: With yesterday being September Morn, I wanted to do something special, and although I'd determined that I wanted it to involve the kayak, when I went to bed Thursday night, I was still undecided as to where to go. Lake St. Clair was out because I'd just gone there recently, and none of our other local lakes is particularly appealing. I kept coming back to one location: Tilton Canyon, but thrifty Scot that I am (read "cheapskate"), the $10 access fee to Ike Kinswa State Park raised my hackles. In the end, the lure of the Tilton won. I mean, it's September Morn, right? That would be my gift-to-self. That said, I was not willing to pay an additional $7 to put in at the boat launch, so I put the 'yak on the cart and dragged it 100 yards through the day-use area.

The beautiful portion of Tilton Canyon is rather short, depending on where you start measuring. The true neck is only about a quarter mile in length, but in that quarter mile, the walls rise straight up and are covered with maidenhair ferns. The canyon is overhung with rich greenery (Big-Leaf Maple, mostly), and it's dark and cool and utterly enchanting. A few small trickles descend from unknown lands above, chuckling unseen in their concealed beds. At one spot, the thin veil of a scattered streamlet drops from the rocks in a hundred tiny rivulets, dashing the river's surface with the force of a torrential rainstorm a foot wide and six feet long. By mid-day, reflected sunlight casts coruscating shadows on the canyon's walls, augmented by the trembling of the maple-leaf canopy. Travelling beyond the upper end of the canyon, the river flattens out so much that navigation is tricky even in a kayak. Eventually, the explorer reaches a point where portage is mandatory. I stop here, not wanting to carry 'yak and gear over 300' of round river rocks to get to the next stretch of flat water.

Because it was September Morn and I felt I needed to serve Ma Nature in some regard, I conducted an invasive plant survey. I was pleased to see that the Japanese Knotweed and Spotted Knapweed noted two years ago has diminished and appears to be under treatment by some unknown agency. Much of the remaining Knotweed had been bent, and much of the Knapweed had been cut to remove the flowering heads. Likewise, I noted far less Buddleia, just a few small plants and one large parent bush. However, a new invader is running rampant: Jewelweed. I did not see it here two years ago; now it covers acres (literally acres!) of riparian land.

Before the day was done, I had paddled nine miles on the Tilton and Cowlitz arms, the two rivers which join to form the greater Cowlitz at Mayfield Lake. I'd found a massive beaver dam, circled several islands and put into port on two (neither much bigger than the floorplan of a modest home). I'd shared the Canyon with a beaver, several ospreys, several herons and a tolerable number of recreational boaters (one of whom bottomed out when he tried to go too far up-river). It's not easy to get away from it all on Labor Day weekend, but I think I managed pretty well.