Mysterious Island

Day 12: Lake Kapowsin is shallow. Its maximum depth is roughly 30', and it is a veritable minefield of subsurface stumps due to the geologic process which formed it. When the Electron Mudflow surged down the Puyallup Valley approximately 500 years ago, it blocked the outlet to Ohop Creek and caused the water to back up in the basin we now know as the lake. The stumps are the remains of the drowned forest, and are a significant hazard for boaters, even one moving slower than usual in her kayak. One high spot of terrain remains as a 30-acre island on the northeast side. Most of the island is very brushy with salal and other shrubs, but a few open areas are considered "party spots" and are used occasionally as illegal campsites. A few pockets are so densely canopied that little light reaches the forest floor, a factor which led me to explore there for lichens and fungi. I found no unusual species, although there was a notable abundance of Evernia on the few Doug firs growing among the cedars.

Port Of Call

Day 11: It would have been criminal to waste a day of glorious, golden October weather, so as soon as the nip was out of the morning air, I headed for Lake Kapowsin with no purpose in mind other than to paddle until my arms got tired. Of course, I'm ever vigilant for invasive plants, but other than the occasional blackberry vine, I found none. However, an encounter with a Nutria at the neck of the "inside passage" behind the island left us both feeling quite surprised. This was the first time I have ever seen one in the wild, and unfortunately, I was unable to get a photo before it slipped off the log where it had been resting. I got a good view of the hindquarters and rat-like tail. Nutria were farmed for their fur in Washington many years ago, and when the practice proved cost-prohibitive (the guard hairs are difficult to remove from the desirable portion of the pelt), many of the farms simply turned their animals loose. Now I know to watch for them when I'm on Kapowsin.

On Nessie's Island

Day 326: Locals will tell you stories about the monster in these waters; "Nessie," they call her, after that more famous monster of Scotland's Loch Ness. Like the Scottish Nessie, no one has any viable proof of her existence, and thus the unbelievers scoff and scorn reports. But I know Nessie is real. A little over five years ago, she nearly gobbled two good friends who had gone to look for a geocache bedded on her spine.

It was March, and even in summer, these deep waters are cold. In March, the winds blow and the whitecaps rise, and the water temperature plummets to just a few degrees above freezing. Jeff and Dan had found the cache and were on their way back, dressed in heavy coats and foul-weather gear, when Nessie rose. She capsized their canoe and plunged them into the frigid waves. They had time to struggle out of some of their gear before the bite of hypothermia set in, blunting their senses, and it was only by great good fortune that a homeowner on the shoreline saw them go over. That samaritan put in a call to 911, and again by a stroke of luck, the firehouse was nearby.

When the two men were pulled from the water, Dan (more heavily fleshed) was coherent. Jeff did not respond. Both were hustled to the hospital. Several hours later, I got a call. Dan was going to be okay, but Jeff was not out of danger.

The following afternoon, Jeff was also released. Neither man remembers much about their experience, and their geocaching logs say simply, "Piece of cake." There are some things you just can't talk about, and an encounter with Nessie ranks high on the list.

Nessie was snoozing when I put into port on her shoulder today. She did not stir when I retrieved the geocache from its position between her vertebrae. But I did not take a single step without having Dan and Jeff at the forefront of my mind.