Another Side of this Life

CR2011: Dinosaur Provincial Park

2012-02-21T16:11:00.000-05:00

We settled into our motel in Brooks, Alberta, for the night. Dinosaur Provincial Park awaited us, only a short drive away. This park is a World Heritage Site, and one of the major dinosaur fossil beds on the planet. It rates several mentions in the March 2012 issue of Scientific American, in an article discussing the density and distribution of dinosaur species on the late Cretaceous continent of Laramidia.

The drive north out of Brooks is pure prairie, flat and simple. There is no hint that anything unusual, let alone as dramatic as a badlands, is lurking nearby. The early morning air is cool. Then, there is a parking area with flagpoles and signs, seemingly in the center of nowhere. This is the entrance to the Park, and the site of the Prairie Trail, a brief (300 meter) but instructive walk. Here is a Google Maps view of the area, with the trail to the left of the parking area.

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The view of the badlands includes the Red Deer River peeking out just above and to the left of center.

The sign about the Prairie Trail (click to enlarge).

The parking area and the short walk, at this early hour, were being visited by at least a dozen western meadowlarks, which sound nothing like the eastern species, at least to my ear.

Also resting here is the Siska Glyphstone, guarded by steel tubing.

A sign details the history of this stone.

Then it was time to drive down into the badlands, to the visitor center, and purchase tickets for a guided tour.

Having arrived for our visit after the Labor Day weekend, the guided hikes or other such programs weren't being offered, but there was one bus tour today, and only one. We arrived early to make sure we would get on it.

In the badlands erosional features dominate the landscape, including gullies and hoodoos. Here is a photo montage of some of them, both from the bus tour and from later walks.

At our second stop, we were free to wander (in a limited area) and look for fossils, which our guide knew were there, having been discovered many times by many visitors.

Then it was time for an explanation of fossil preparation, which required a volunteer.

The fossil bones are taken, still largely encased in rock, to laboratories for careful extraction. Protecting them in transit from their remote bedding sites are several layers of burlap and plaster, a technique over a hundred years old.

As you can see from the strong shadows and blue sky, the sun was blasting down on us, and the temperatures were rising. It would reach about 93°F today. The bus was not air-conditioned; if it was supposed to be, today it was just recirculating the air. Our guide handed out plastic bottles of water with a squeeze handle, so that you could create a fine mist above your head. Back in Ohio, a land of 85° temperatures and 85% humidity, this technique would be futile. In the arid plains of Alberta, it does surprisingly well at cooling the air around your face for a few minutes. Also we were frequently disembarking from the bus, and the bugs were not out today.

The next stop was a small locked shed of concrete blocks, to which our guide had the key. Inside was a corythosaurus skeleton, left as it had been discovered.

Our guide did a great job of explaining how these bones arrived, jumbled, at this spot. If you needed a review, there was a detailed wall panel.

Here is a better look at the bones.

Continuing on, we passed the camel formation, a pair of hoodoos that resemble a dromedary (D for one hump) camel.

When we arrived back at the visitor's center, we decided to walk the Coulee Viewpoint Trail (0.9 km) first, before the day got any hotter, and to investigate the center afterwards. From that trail, there is a panoramic view of Little Sandhill Creek.

A plaque describes the ice-age forces that created these coulees (click to enlarge).

Further metamorphosis was performed by the interaction of water and clay.

The trail let us explore high points and low.

The visitor's center is very well done, including a theater and a reconstruction of an early fossil-hunter's turn-of-the-2oth-century campsite. There is a gallery depicting a pack of small carnivorous dinosaurs attacking a much larger prey.

For the next stage of our visit we returned to our car and took the self-guided driving loop, with several stops for exhibits and hiking paths. The first stop was the Badlands Trail (1.3 km).

The black blob you see in Joan's hand is an umbrella, partially closed for the photo op. We called them sunbrellas, and they ward off the relentless afternoon sun magnificently.

This trail has some ups and downs, but it's scenic!

One of the reasons that the coulees of the badlands are so treacherous is the high proportion of bentonite in the clays, probably sodium bentonite.

If you were down in the coulee and it started to rain, you were at risk for flash flooding -- with no way to climb the slick sides. Yet another reason these are "bad" lands.

Along the public loop road there are two fossil houses, where special items are protected from the elements but available for viewing through glass. I took pictures only at the "headless hadrosaur" fossil house.

I've combined two of the signs there:

Next was the Trail of the Fossil Hunters (0.9 km). This out-and-back trail takes you to one of the original fossil dig sites in the park.

The small structure at far left is the distant second fossil house. The trail gently climbs from there to avoid rough terrain, and then, just right of center in the photo, turns and winds towards the dig site.

Our final walk was the Cottonwood Flats Trail (1.4 km), for which I have no photos. This trail takes you through the cottonwood trees, voracious consumers of water, that depend on the flooding habits of the Red Deer River. Again, Google Maps reveals the trail:

View Larger Map

When the course of the Red Deer shifts, established cottonwoods wither for lack of water, and new ones must spring up. The germination of the cottonwood seeds depends upon their landing on the mud of the riverbanks just as the spring floods recede. It's a Goldilocks situation, because the ground must be wet enough, but not too wet.

Then it was time to return to Brooks to rehydrate and rest. Tomorrow, Drumheller.

A Hawk in the Bush

2012-02-19T15:59:00.000-05:00

This Friday Joan and I set out to take a walk in the unseasonable February sunshine. A few steps from our front door, Joan spotted a Cooper's hawk sitting in a tree next to the house across the street. We admired his or her plumage through our binoculars, and slowly walked closer to him, a few steps at a time, down our driveway.

He launched from the tree and plunged into the bushes in front of the neighbor's house. Clearly he was hunting something he had seen or heard, and probed on foot for his prey.

This day his hunt wasn't successful. To get a better vantage point, he flew to the top of the low juniper bush visible on the far right of the above picture. We continued to approach, and the hawk was unfazed. This was clearly a suburban hawk! Joan and I came as close as the near sidewalk to him.

With a more severe cropping of this photo, you can see a chartreuse band of tissue where his beak meets his head. Also, the pupil of the eye in the sunshine has contracted, and the pupil in the shade has not.

After meditating on the scene, unblinking, for several minutes the hawk flew off. We were thrilled at the serendipitous timing of our neighborhood walk!

Jean Branch 3/23/1924 - 1/26/2012

2012-02-01T09:58:00.000-05:00

My mother, Jean Branch (Nelson), passed away last Thursday, January 26th, 2012. I will post a photo essay after sorting through family pictures and scanning the keepers, which might take a while. For now, I'll copy and paste the obituary from the Knoxville News-Sentinel.

BRANCH, JEAN NELSON - age 87 of Knoxville, TN passed away at her home Thursday, January 26, 2012. She was a talented water color artist and a longtime member of the Covert Coloring Society. Jean was also a world traveler with her husband Neal during the 1980s and 1990s. She is preceded in death by her husband of 66 years, Neal Branch; brother, Edward Nelson; and her parents. Jean is survived by her two sons, Mark and Benson. A wonderful mother, wife and beloved friend of everyone who knew her, she will be greatly missed by all. "Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow; I am the diamond glints on the snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain; I am the gentle autumn's rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft star that shines at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there; I did not die." At her request no services are planned. In lieu of flowers the family requests that donations may be made to the American Cancer Society , 871 Weisgarber Road, Knoxville, TN 37909. Arrangements by Cremation Options, Inc. (865) 6WE-CARE (693-2273) www.cremationoptionsinc.com.

CR2011: Huber and Yukness Ledges

2011-12-31T20:22:00.000-05:00

The path along the Huber Ledges connects Wiwaxy Gap to Lake Oesa. Starting out, a first-timer would be uncertain if this trail actually makes it all the way through. From down at Lake O'Hara, you can't see it at all.

But it does. The route is often clear ...

... but there are sometimes rocky parts where you must choose the best option for your length of leg, size of boot, sense of balance, etc. Keep an eye out for the alpine blazes so you don't get fooled by a false path in these locations.

As you proceed on the Huber Ledges a chain of lakes comes into view. In this next picture note the gray field of boulders towards which the trail is heading; this is another spot where the alpine blazes are important. It's also the only place on the Huber Ledges where you can improvise a relief stop.

Looking more closely at the lakes,

Oesa is at top left. Then the water flows through Lefroy Lake and Lake Victoria; the shallow green water at far right, directly under the Yukness Ledges, is one of the Nymph Pools.

I took a closer, wider photo of Lake Oesa as we exited the boulder field. The relatively flat, stony shelf at right is a popular picnic stop, whether you arrive via the Huber Ledges, Yukness Ledges, or the Oesa trail that arrives directly from Lake O'Hara.

In the photo the lake doesn't look as large as it should. For scale, can you find the people enjoying the picnic grounds on the right? This next picture will zoom and point them out. If necessary, click to enlarge!

Joan and I enjoyed a sunny lunch with at least a dozen other hikers scattered around the shelf. Then we rambled to the far side to join the Yukness Ledges trail, which drops off the Oesa platform before it reaches the Yukness scree slope. Here, we look back to see other hikers making that descent. It's minor, but it requires a couple of alpine blazes to find the correct way.

The initial scree path has chunks of rock bigger than stones but smaller than boulders.

The trail soon arrives at a tilted and fracturing table-top. Weaving between the blocks, the alpine route reaches the edge of the highest level, and drops down, precipitously at first, and then more easily, to the lowest level. This picture was taken from our earlier viewpoint on the Huber Ledges. If you click to enlarge you can discern the trail hugging the far right of the ledge.

Here we look back towards Oesa from the table-top.

Other hikers pose for a photo near the edge.

This blaze marks the start of the clamber down to the lower levels of Yukness -- not the end of the road, which it otherwise resembles.

Once headed west the trail quickly enters a geological grove, shards fallen down from North Yukness Peak. Fortunately for us they don't break loose often, at least on a human time scale.

There is just enough climbing and descending to keep the hiker warmed up.

There are wonderful views from Yukness Ledges, many of which are variations on a theme. I'll present only one example, which looks straight along the length of Lake O'Hara. The zig-zag trail climbing from the lakeside, far right, is the direct route to Oesa from O'Hara. There are pale green rings of submerged avalanche debris next to the shore.

Eventually the route bends south as its works around the promontory, and now it is carrying us into the Opabin Plateau, but higher up than the east trail, visible between the trees below on the right.

The Yukness Ledges route ends at Hungabee Lake, where we were in the snow two days ago. But first there is another boulder field to thread through.

Then it's down the east trail one more time to Lake O'Hara. After we return to the cabin and clean up, we head to the cheerful-looking lodge for dinner.

Sadly, the next morning we must depart. We have a full day of driving to begin the last segment of our trip, and a completely opposite one to what we have accomplished so far. We're changing from the mountains to the plains, and from chills to dry heat. We're heading to Brooks, about 230 miles to the east, where we'll stay while visiting Dinosaur Provincial Park. But that's a subject for the next post.

Here is a farewell photo of Lake O'Hara and Cathedral Mountain, taken while waiting for the morning bus.

As soon as you leave O'Hara, you're planning how and when to return.

CR2011: Climbing to Wiwaxy Gap

2011-12-30T19:49:00.000-05:00

The next day was another sunny one. This meant that between yesterday and today most of the snow should be gone from the alpine routes. We decided it was a good day to hike a favorite route, up to Wiwaxy Gap and then along the Huber and Yukness ledges.

The trail to Wiwaxy splits off the lakeside trail close to the north end. This photo is taken towards the north end of Lake O'Hara, not long after leaving our cabin.

There's a sign where the Wiwaxy trail begins. Note the two different images used for alpine routes -- Wiwaxy Gap is walkable, if steep, while Abbot Pass, at bottom, requires climbing.

And the Wiwaxy route goes up from the very first step. It's steeper than it looks; we'll see a later section in profile.

The path quickly leaves the wooded section seen above and starts a series of rapid switchbacks along the side of a gully, out in the sun. You can see some hikers ahead of us, upper center, in this image.

Here we have paused partway up the gully to look back at the lake. The people in the previous photo are now behind us; we leapfrogged each other several times this morning. There are many reasons to pause besides catching your breath, including taking off the jackets or gloves that seemed necessary down by the lake. At this point your inner furnace is running at 100%.

Near the top of the gully the trail becomes more gentle and heads into woods on the right. The model in the next photo, with the blue shirt and yellow daypack, is Joan.

In this stretch there is a grand old tree, a grandfather or grandmother tree, eking a living from a precarious site and rocky soil. We touch his bark and greet him each time we pass.

The trail then arrives at rock ledges, where hikers slow down and watch their footing. There are a couple of switchbacks which require keeping an eye out for the alpine blazes.

Although the path may be narrow, it's not always steep. Just most of the time.

I was able to persuade Joan to pose for the next picture without much difficulty. The green carpet in the center, higher up on the far side of the lake, begins the Opabin Plateau.

In rocky country, the alpine trail blazes are necessary to avoid false turns, and to take the correct ones.

The Wiwaxy trail is varied. Now the rock ledges are left behind and the trees thin as we emerge into more open slopes.

The path steepens and becomes looser under foot, and all shade is lost.

There are, inevitably, more switchbacks.

Finally we are getting near the top.

Now I can show you a trail profile, with a picture I took later from the Yukness Ledges. Click to enlarge and watch the trail rise from the lower left corner to upper right.

Finally I was at the top, 2532 meters or about 8,300' above sea level. As soon as I stepped into the windy pass I rolled my shirtsleeves back down.

I couldn't resist taking a video from the gap, even if my camera lens was a bit dusty. I scanned about 330° of some of the most gorgeous scenes in the world.

It was too early for lunch. So it was time to walk along the Huber Ledges to Lake Oesa -- in the next post.

CR2011: A Lake Trio: Linda, Cathedral, and Monica Lake

2011-12-26T15:20:00.000-05:00

This day began with full sunshine and stayed that way. Our goal today, our top-of-the-list for this stay at Lake O'Hara, was Monica Lake. Monica lies in a small bowl between Cathedral Prospect and Cathedral Mountain, and although we'd been to the prospect once before, and the lakes along the route more than once, we'd never made it all the way to Monica, just under 5 miles one way.

The first stretch, whether you take the Morning Glory Lakes trail or the campground trail, isn't interesting after the first visit. It's a walk in the woods that chews up time before you reach the good stuff. We took advantage of the morning bus option: join the guests departing that morning on the lodge bus, informing the management the evening before of your plans. Remind the bus driver to drop you off at the Linda Lake junction, and you've saved a tedious mile.

Here's a picture of the trail heading up from the Linda Lake junction.

The air was frosty and patches of snow had survived the night, more so as we gained altitude. Here Joan crosses the footbridge across Morning Glory Creek, partway to Linda Lake. The sun is just starting to spill over into the basin, while Odaray Mountain (about 10,300') is brilliant.

Once you arrive at Linda Lake, there appear to be a swarm of choices, although many begin by heading the same way.

We passed by the north shore of Linda Lake. There's more to Linda than is apparent in this picture.

Our trail wound on to Cathedral Lake. In this photo we have almost reached it -- click to enlarge.

The near side of the lake still has a thin skin of ice on it. The peaks that rim this valley have nosed up over the trees.

The trail passes by the north end of the lake, and after a while the trail to Duchesney Basin and Last Larch Prospect splits off to the left as the Cathedral trail veers to the right and begins to climb. Shortly you are going directly uphill between a rock field and the trees.

As you climb higher there are more rocks and fewer trees, and the mountains grow closer.

At the edge of the tree line the route turns sharply to the right and rises more gently. You are traversing the platform that lies before Consummation Peak, Goat Peak, and Cathedral Mountain.

The view towards Cathedral Mountain opens up.

There are many stopping places with astonishing vistas along this stretch, but we continued on until Monica Lake popped into view.

Here we sat in the sunshine and ate our lunch. We had occasional company.

After lunch we strolled along the prospect, binoculars in hand, taking many pictures.

The lake in the far distance, at the foot of the mountains, is Lake O'Hara. You can see we have traveled some distance from the lodge! The next image looks into both the O'Hara and Duchesnay valleys. Ordaray Mountain is a shadowed sentinel at the corner of the two.

We retraced our steps and began to descend. The sunlight now reflected off the Cathedral Lakes, left, and one of the Odaray Lakes, right, just under the mountain. We saw many mini-avalanches on the face of Odaray as pockets of snow would loosen and fall with a soft rumble.

Now the rock field must be negotiated downhill. Thank goodness for walking sticks!

Our return leg followed Linda Lake's south, not north, shore.

The rock pile you see above held at least one guardian pika.

With the afternoon light the view north was spectacular.

From Linda Lake we descended a moraine, through woods and along widely spaced switchbacks, reaching the Morning Glory Lakes. I have no photo of Morning Glory, but here is an overview of Cathedral, Linda, and Morning Glory lakes on the edge of Odaray's shadow.

View Larger Map
Then we began the long final two miles to Lake O'Hara. The first section of the trail gained about 500 feet, and then it set to wiggling through the forest.

With some relief we reached the near end of the Alpine Meadow, and its small pool. At the far side are the buildings of the Elizabeth Parker Hut, administered by the Alpine Club of Canada.

Now we were less than half a mile from our cabin. We were pleased to have added Monica Lake to our tally on such a fine day.

CR2011: Snowy September 2nd at Lake O'Hara

2011-12-24T14:27:00.000-05:00

Overnight it drizzled, and then snowed. We awoke on September 2nd to a powdered-sugar morning.

The cabin looked like this.

And heading to breakfast, the lodge was like this.

We decided to start with a clockwise loop of Lake O'Hara, because the weather looked uncertain. A footbridge crosses the stream where it exits the lake.

The Lakeshore Trail offers plenty of views. This next image was taken near the lake's outlet.

We decided to return to the Opabin Plateau. When the weather could take a turn for the worse, it's not too high up nor too far away from the lakeshore. This time we took the east trail up. Here Joan is near the top, or rather, near the point where the trail becomes much less steep.

Heading further back into the plateau, towards the namesake Opabin Lake (7500') and Opabin Glacier, the east trail is gentle for a while.

A pika stood guard to cheer us up. Eeep!

This image was taken as we approached Hungabee Lake and the moraine behind which Opabin Lake and Glacier lurk. Notice how the air is thickening with mist. It was getting windy again too.

Scaling the moraine -- the trail is visible towards the left -- we came up to Opabin Lake. This year the water level was low, and I stood on an exposed stretch of lake bottom to take this picture.

It was now too windy and drizzly to stop in the open for lunch. We took the trail down the west side of the moraine, and crossed over to a nook in the trees near the northeast corner of Hungabee Lake, where we had eaten during inclement weather in other years. Afterwards we passed by the head of the Moor Lakes.

Then we traversed the Highline Trail, which is always fun. We were breaking trail; there were no footprints in the snow ahead of us, reminding us of a few years ago, also breaking trail on the Highline, when a Russian couple followed us assuming that we knew where we were going.

Intermittent waves of drizzle and flurries continued as we hiked. We finished by descending along the east trail to the lakeshore, and thence to the cabin. Tomorrow would be much different.

CR2011: At Lake O'Hara, Opabin Prospect and All Souls Prospect

2011-12-23T16:00:00.000-05:00

We decided that a good place to begin our first day of hiking at Lake O'Hara would be Opabin Prospect. Then, based on how the weather was developing, we might stride further.

We chose the west trail for climbing to the Plateau. It's somewhat steeper than the east trail, but the east trail isn't as interesting, with lots of switchbacks in the woods. The initial portion of the west trail also heads through a forested area.

After passing close by Mary Lake, the trail breaks out of the woods as it enters the valley between the Opabin Plateau and Schäffer Ridge. Clinging to the side of the Plateau, it continues to climb.

As with many trails, as this one approaches the gap it steepens and begins switchbacks. In this picture it almost looks as if the trail ends at the base of the cliff.

As soon as it reverses direction, the view opens up.

The moisture, which disappears beneath the rocks lower down, supports a wide swath of low greenery as we approach the lip of the plateau.

In the next picture we have crossed onto the plateau, but the trail still rises. In short order choices present themselves; first, the route to All Souls Prospect splits off to the right, and then the trail to the Opabin Prospect splits off to the left. If you continue straight, you will head deeper into the plateau.

We headed directly for the prospect, and after a short climb, we were weaving towards the edge along a much flatter trail.

Walking out on large rock blocks, hopping over the occasional petite crevasse, we reach the viewpoint.

The two lakes at far left are really just one, Mary Lake. The lodge and cabins are in the peninsula that pokes into Lake O'Hara near its far end.

We continued a short distance into the plateau, to an overlook that has a splendid view of the Cascade Lakes and, beyond, Yukness Mountain.

The rocky protuberance at right marks the beginning of the Opabin Highline trail, which offers a third way to explore the plateau in addition to the east and west trails.

The weather was holding up, so Joan and I decided to journey over to All Souls Prospect. The next picture shows the west trail descending to the junction for All Souls. You might be able to make out the small brown sign in the center of the image (click to enlarge).

The way to All Souls is an alpine route. That means that the trail can be steeper, narrower, and less visible than the regular routes. Blazes are painted on rocks to guide the hiker when the way is not clear, two yellow bars on a blue background. Joan and I call them Route 11 signs. In this next picture there is a blaze on the large rock in center top.

Sometimes the way may be easy, but blazes are still used to prevent wandering off the route.

As shown in the pictures above, the first stages of hiking from the Opabin Plateau to All Souls Prospect involve a rocky staircase, followed by picking your way through a flatter area. Once the flanks and scree slopes of Schäffer Ridge are reached, the terrain is vastly different.

The footing on most of the trail is OK, once you become accustomed to walking through and sometimes on the rocks. However, there is one short stretch where the route veers steeply uphill, and your foot must be planted carefully to avoid slipping. We found walking sticks very useful!

The view out towards Lake O'Hara and beyond provides a handy excuse to stop and catch your breath. This trail does not permit walking and gawking at the same time.

We trudged on, and the prospect drew closer. Occasionally people would pass us going the other way.

Then we were at the prospect.

We had been on the lee side of the ridge, and as we drew closer to the top, the wind began to bite. In the picture above, my hat is jammed onto my head, the gloves are on, and the rain jacket, serving as a windbreaker, is zipped tightly over my fleece jacket. The binoculars are underneath the rain jacket.

You've seen several pictures looking back to Lake O'Hara in this post, so I will spare you any more. This next image is looking down in the other direction, where the trail plunges from the prospect to Schäffer Lake. This stretch of the trail has one or two spots where both legs and both arms are engaged in holding onto rocks, but thankfully these are brief.

We began hiking down. It was too cold and windy to have lunch at the viewpoint; finding a spot partway down that was sheltered by rocks, we took a quick lunch. I was relieved to put my gloves back on afterwards. The last 10% of the trail was less punishing, with a gentler grade, switchbacks, and trees beginning to block the wind.

At this point we encountered a hoary marmot. He was busy browsing against the upcoming winter, and unconcerned about us as long as we did not approach too closely.

We continued down to Lake O'Hara by the Big Larches trail. This passes rock falls that are a prime habitat for marmots and pikas.

And then we were back at the lake.

There was still some time left in the day, so we walked back to the cabin taking the long way around Lake O'Hara. Then it was time for a most welcome hot shower.

CR2011: A Damp Interlude; or, Tryst Lake, Whyte Museum, and Lake O'Hara

2011-12-21T21:36:00.001-05:00

The next day began cloudy with a forecast of rain. Joan and I decided to hike to Tryst Lake, a shorter hike that we might finish before the rains came. Or at least we wouldn't be out in the rain as long.

The parking area is very close to Mount Engadine Lodge. You could walk to it. We drove, along with another couple, and began the walk down the fire road. (Another uninteresting approach.) In this case the trail up to Tryst Lake leaves the fire road, heading west and up. It follows and occasionally crosses a modest watercourse, steeply at times, until you arrive at the lake. This picture was taken looking back down the trail, at a not-so-steep point.

We arrived at the lake without having encountered any rain, but the clouds were low.

As we were finishing our lunch there was a tremendous thunderclap. It was time to put on our rain gear and head back as promptly as the steep trail would allow. I was in such a rush that I put my rain pants on backwards the first time, another example of "haste makes waste." Fortunately, there were only sprinkles and brief showers while we walked back to the car and returned to the lodge, for an afternoon of taking it easy and enjoying the scrumptious afternoon tea.

The next day was wet. It was also a transfer day, when we departed from Mount Engadine Lodge and took the late afternoon bus to Lake O'Hara. This is less than a day's drive, but the conditions were poor for hiking, so we paused in both Canmore and Banff.

Our first stop was the Canmore Museum and GeoScience Center. We focused on the permanent exhibits about the history of coal mining in the area, and the geology. Modern industry was bootstrapped by coal, and the coal miners had a hard life. Ultimately, we owe them a lot. A short walk took us to the Canmore Public Library and Art Gallery, which required less time than the Museum.

In Banff we visited the Whyte Museum, which is always interesting. The highlight of this visit was a guided tour of two of the original houses, now on the grounds of the museum. Our first stop was in the home of Philip and Pearl (Brewster) Moore, followed by that of Peter and Catharine (Robb) Whyte.

Pearl was reportedly the first white child born in Banff, in 1889. One of the founding families in the Banff area, the Brewster's name is found on many travel-oriented businesses. Here are three pictures from the interior of the Moore house.

The story of Peter and Catharine Whyte is a fascinating one. Follow this link for all the details, but in a nutshell, I'll say that Peter was born in Banff in the 1905, and Catharine was born into an affluent family in Massachusetts. During summer vacations she dated John D. Rockefeller III for a while. Peter and Catharine met at the School of the Museum of Fine Arts, Boston, in 1925. They married in 1930 and moved to Banff (a long, long way from the life of a socialite in Boston). These are my three pictures of the interior of their house.

Then it was time to head to the Lake O'Hara parking area, next to the Trans-Canada highway just over the border in British Columbia. We unpacked in our cabin, had a great dinner, and hoped that tomorrow would be better.

It started foggy, but with promise.

We arrived at the lodge a few minutes before breakfast, to warm by the fire and sip coffee. This picture captures much of the central social area; there are many tables behind and to the right. Lodge rooms are on the second floor.

Breakfast can be deceptive to the newcomer. It starts with a buffet that features juices, coffee, muffins, cereals (hot and cold), yogurt, and fruit (especially berries, just ask Joan). You might think this is breakfast, which is true, but it's not all of breakfast. If you eat too much from the buffet, you may be dismayed when the wait staff asks which hot breakfast you want. Alison or Bruce will ask which of three sandwiches you want, if you will be out on the trail at lunchtime. Towards the end of breakfast, the buffet is cleared to make way for lunch fixings. Stacks of sandwiches in plastic tubs, cheese, veggies such as carrot and pepper strips, trail mix ingredients (nuts, dried fruit, and such), and cookies. Oh, the cookies. Ask Joan about the cookies. Lake O'Hara could teach a PhD-level course in cookies, brownies, and bars. Finally, if you prefer, lemonade to drink on the trail.

By the end of breakfast the fog had largely evaporated. It might be a good hiking day after all.

CR2011: On to Burstall Pass

2011-12-18T12:55:00.000-05:00

It was a perfect day to hike to Burstall Pass. The day was sunny, and we had three days of training under our belts with which to tackle the 9½ mile round trip.

The first two miles are mildly interesting when you are fresh, but can be boring and seemingly endless on your way back. The way starts out on an old logging road, with glimpses of the Burstall Lakes on your right through the trees.

The road gradually narrows to a trail, and after 1¾ miles mountain bikes are not allowed further. We have, however, seen tire tracks revealing that this regulation is not always observed. At 2¼ miles you reach the meadow of gravel and shrubbery fed by outwash from the Robertson Glacier.

The meadow is woven with small streams that must be crossed. There are several approaches to this: to wade, perhaps switching to sandals first, to jump, or to walk across on small logs, if available. We had brought our Tevas but hoped not to use them.

The route is marked by signs, as no trail survives the annual rerouting of the streams in spring flood.

From the midpoint looking south distant Mount Robertson (10,480') and the glacier stand out on the skyline.

Chris, one of the innkeepers at Engadine, had warned us that the west end of the meadow had a pool in front of the trail, but that there was a way around it beating through the bushes to the left. He was right.

Push through one stand of bushes, then walk on vegetation tops for several yards, so that the water climbs only an inch or so onto your boots, and then balance for several feet on a sizeable log, and voilá, you're on the trail again!

The next phase is an upward climb through the forest until you come to a long, skinny meadow in a hanging valley. Towards the end of the valley the path climbs again, followed by switchbacks to reach the pass. Burstall Pass is not a sharp pass, where you can stand in one spot and gaze down in both directions; it is more spread out, and potential viewpoints are scattered everywhere.

This next photo faces west from the pass itself. I'm probably standing on the border between Alberta and British Columbia.

The trail continues down through the open area in the center, beyond which is a parklike area that we'll see soon. Joan and I lunched in the sun behind a rock outcrop blocking the chill wind. Then we decided to climb the modest ridge on the left of the photo, and tackled it from behind. We first continued on the trail to the edge of the parklike area and then scrambled up the back of the ridge. Here's the view to the west from the top. You can't see the way we came; it's steep and hidden by the lip of the ridge.

The green parklike shelf is a favorite spot to hang out and relax, especially when the pass itself already holds a throng, or is just too cold because of the wind. The lake in the middle distance is Lemon Lake, which we could see from the other side on our visit to Talus Lodge, and the somewhat crooked peak above and to the left of the lake, appearing small because of the distance, is "The Talon," which we saw close up at Talus. (Click on the photo to enlarge.)

Now for a video -- a 360° pan from this ridge. The panning is a bit shakier than normal; because of the width of the ridgetop, I walked closer to edges as I panned to get better views. Had I stayed at the center you would have seen way too much of the ridgetop and not enough of anything else! Note: I stripped the audio from this video because it was just blasting wind.

The video starts looking northward, at Snow Peak, and behind that is Mount Birdwood. The valley that shows up next holds the trail up from route 742 (Smith-Dorrien/Spray Trail). That's the way we came. To the south is South Burstall Pass, which is supposed to be reachable with a modest amount of cross-country (no trail) walking skill.

Then it was time to return. We discovered that the front, or east, face of our ridge was a good way to go down and would have been the better way to come up. Eventually we reached the pond with the vegetative traverse, and saw a young couple on the other side wondering how to cross. I called to them to walk to their left, and they observed as Joan and I retraced the route. When we burst out of the bushes and chatted with them, they asked how long it would take to reach the pass. This couple had driven out from Calgary to take the Chester Lake trail, only to discover that it was closed due to bears. They had set out for Burstall as a substitute, and having completed the logging road and braided streams, weren't sure if they had enough time left. We told them we had been descending for an hour and a half, so they decided to turn around.

The last two miles on the logging road seemed to go on forever, but there was a surprise waiting for us at the end of this hike, perhaps a hundred yards from our car. A moose was enjoying thick mud.

Our Burstall Pass hike was a satisfying success.

CR2011: Pocaterra Cirque and Mount Engadine Lodge

2011-12-16T20:20:00.000-05:00

The next day was a transit day between Canmore and Mount Engadine Lodge. These places are less than an hour apart, but we took the long way around and hiked through Pocaterra Cirque and partway to Little Highwood Pass.

The trail to Pocaterra Cirque starts at the parking area for Highwood Pass, 7238'. The more popular Ptarmigan Cirque trail, which we have traversed several times, most recently in 2009, is just across the highway. For Pocaterra Cirque, start on the interpretive loop trail and then follow a small path, but avoid tramping down the middle of the sensitive Highwood Meadows. After crossing the Meadows, the path begins to climb and split and intertwine; the ground has boggy patches much of the time, and hikers have gone different ways to avoid wet patches. The trail comes together again before you cross the shoulder of a ridge, leave the denser pine forest, and see the Pocaterra Cirque ahead.

Please note that this text is descriptive and not meant as a guide. One excellent hiking companion is Kathy and Craig Copeland's book, Where Locals Hike in the Canadian Rockies.

In the next photo, the trail is heading onward on the far left. The cirque is nestled below the barren high ridgeline on the left, while the greener mountain in the center is the start of Pocaterra Ridge. The valley to the right of the ridge goes down to the highway. One scenic hike is to climb to the top of Pocaterra Ridge and follow it north, up and down intermediate peaks, until the trail mutates from "unmaintained" to "suggested route" and you pick your way a final 2 km down the ridge and through the woods to the road. Our GemTrek map -- and I cannot praise these maps enough, they are the gold standard for hiking maps, and the waterproof ones are worth every penny -- has the notation "Enjoy bushwhacking here!". We did not intend to do this.

A while later on the trail, there is a meadow split by Pocaterra Creek as it runs down from the cirque. This picture looks back the way we had come.

Passing by a side trail up to Grizzy Col (8550'), we arrived at the cirque, and chose to go up towards Little Highwood Pass, rather than climbing directly up the side of the ridge. Here is the view from shortly after making that decision, looking back down to Highwood Pass. If you click on the photo to enlarge it, you might see the direct trail climbing out of the creek bed.

The vegetation vanished as we walked up the draw towards the pass. Widely scattered snowbanks still persisted up here, at about 8000', despite the intense sunlight.

And then, although we were at Pocaterra Cirque, not Ptarmigan Cirque, Joan almost stepped on a ptarmigan. This is not a colorful turn of speech, for she almost stepped on the ptarmigan. She did not spook or startle (the ptarmigan, that is. Joan, however, was quite surprised).

She called out to her babies, telling them to stay still where they were, partially hidden and protected by the rocks.

This pika paused in his foraging to observe the tableau.

We lunched short of the pass, which is at 8348'. We considered this a good escalation of altitude -- our Grotto Canyon walk reached perhaps 5400', and the Barrier Lake Fire Lookout hike the next day reached 6600'. Reaching 8000' was a good workout for a pair from Ohio. In some other year we plan to climb to the top of that ridge and float in the view.

Coming down, we encountered ptarmigan again. Some were the ones we had seen before, but there was one youngster who had stubby wings and a lot of baby down.

Then we made our way back down to Highwood Pass, and drove to Mount Engadine Lodge. We have stayed at this lodge, an excellent base of operations for exploring the Kananaskis Country, several times before, as I wrote about here and here.

One important factor in choosing hikes out of Engadine at this time (end of August 2011) was the prescribed burns in the area, ignited an attempt to limit the damage caused by pine beetles. The lodge itself was close to the Buller Pass and Rummel Lake burns:

The map comes from the Government of Alberta website linked to by "prescribed burns" above. You can see how close the lodge is!

The fire professionals had prepared the lodge and cabins against any blowing sparks. In need, a pump would bring water up from the creek, and sprinklers were on the roof of each building. You would be right to expect me to have pictures of this, after two years of blogging, and you will be right to be disappointed that I did not. However, there is this picture of the lodge in the late evening:

I was out in the driveway to see if I could get a decent picture of the fire. It was not the wall of flame that you might expect, particularly because it was towards the end of the operation. Occasionally a tree would ignite and flare up like a piece of paper, burning brightly for a moment or two and then guttering out. The fire, perhaps not as hot as an uncontrolled burn, seemed to strip the trees of leaves, needles, and small branches, but not consume them entirely. (There is one photo of this in the middle of this blog entry I found on the web.) Here is my best picture of one of the candle trees.

Another factor was bears. The always-popular Chester Lake trail was closed due to bear activity. Just across the road from the Chester Lake trailhead parking is the Burstall Pass trailhead parking, as can be seen at the bottom of the burn map, and that's where we were going the next day. With our bear spray, as always.

Burstall Pass, to which we had been only once before, years ago, was our "must do" destination for this segment of our trip. We had three days of training behind us, and the weather forecast for tomorrow was good.

CR2011: Canmore, Grotto Canyon, and Barrier Lake Fire Lookout

2011-12-15T20:30:00.001-05:00

In late August we took our annual trip to the Canadian Rockies. This entry will cover our hikes in the Canmore area, ones we had not walked before.

It was an auspicious beginning at the Calgary Airport. Hertz gave us the ideal car for this trip, something we had not received in eight prior visits to Calgary and three rental agencies. The Ford Taurus had a trunk large enough to hold all our luggage, but was not a huge grandfather's land yacht, and best of all, it was not an SUV, which is a battle we've had to fight before. When you are taking a day hike while traveling from lodge A to lodge B, you do not want your luggage exposed to view in the back of an SUV!

We took a long route to Canmore, heading south from Calgary and passing through the small town of Black Diamond to stop at Marv's Classic Soda Shop. Joan and I both had a chocolate malt, and the young man behind the counter chatted with Joan about a trip to Italy he had taken. Then he charged us $5 for the two malts, which listed for $6 each!

We came up towards Canmore through Highwood Pass, which at 7238' is the highest point in Canada on paved highway. South of the pass we passed two young grizzly bears moseying north on the shoulder of the road. These were the first grizzlies we had ever seen in person during our Canadian trips. We had been following the bear situation before our departure, and we knew that it was an active wildlife year. The previous summer was an exceptionally good berry season, so the bear moms had a bumper crop of cubs over the winter. Now, this year, the foraging was not so good, causing the bears and other wildlife to roam widely in search of food.

As before, we stayed at the Canadian Artisans Bed and Breakfast. The guest parking there is flanked by pine trees and the house, as you can see in this photo. Squirrels loved to drop sap-soaked pine cones onto the car from these arboreal perches.

Our Taurus had a rear view camera whose image was displayed in a tiny square on the rear view mirror, and a proximity warning that beeped faster and faster the closer the back of the car came to an obstacle. By the time I parked it as seen above, with the help of Joan's hand signals, the warning was screaming loud enough to make me wince.

Before hiking, we stopped in town to buy bear spray. Good to have in any case, bear spray had also been required to hike some of the Barrier Lake trails, part of our second hike, at different times in the summer. No bear spray, and you got a ticket. Sometimes that trail had been closed entirely because too many hikers and bikers were ignoring the precautions. Fortunately for us, that trail opened before we arrived.

But our first hike was the Grotto Creek Trail in Grotto Canyon. This section remains a fuzzy, low-resolution image on Google Earth, or I'd show it to you. After passing behind a magnesium oxide processing plant, the trail begins to rise and then turns northerly into a gorge. At this point the trail breaks up; it has become just an intermittent alternative to walking the creek bed when the creek is high, and the primary route is up the creek. This is a popular rock climbing location, and it's easy to spot metal hoops hammered into the rock faces. After a while, you arrive at a 'T'.

The right hand of the 'T' is brief, steep, and polished by the boots of many hikers, ending in a waterfall.

Those stone ledges look like an inviting path to the waterfall, but they're treacherous. I took a picture of the waterfall, but the photo was tilted because of my precarious perch on the stones, and I needed the computer to set it right.

We continued up the canyon, to the left.

Shortly there was a broader spot where the remains of a fire ring or two could be seen, and the creek turned north again. The walls of the canyon sank lower and further apart as we climbed. After lunch we decided to start back, and passed again a huge hoodoo-like formation, made of more easily eroded soft aggregates, but with a cave entrance partway up.

A family had climbed up to the cave entrance, and discovered that going up was easier than going back down. Getting the kids down took some coaching and coaxing.

The Grotto Canyon was an interesting warmup, with plenty of stony footing.

The next day, a Saturday, we hiked to the Barrier Lake Fire Lookout. Having arrived as early as we could to claim a parking spot, there was a chill morning breeze, and we were glad for our jackets, even on August 27th. We hustled quickly across the earthen dam to stay warm, and then the wide Prairie View Trail began to climb. At the first intersection, where the Stoney Trail, paralleling the lake, crossed ours, we were greeted by an ashen-faced mountain biker. He asked, "Which way are you going?" He had just seen a mountain lion, a kilometer back on his trail. Two young mountain lions, a brother and sister, had been killed earlier in the summer due to their lack of fear of humans. Fortunately we were headed straight ahead.

The first leg of the hike winds up and up the side of the ridge, almost broad enough to be a road, with frequent switchbacks. Several mountain bike riders passed us; this leg is part of a popular loop for them. Eventually you reach the ridge line, and a grassy area provides the first viewpoint.

From here you can look up along the ridge line to the Prairie View Viewpoint. The last climb up to the viewpoint is much narrower and rockier, not hospitable to a casual mountain biker.

On reaching the Prairie View Viewpoint we were not alone. Groups of people were savoring the bright sunshine, the warming day, and the view to the east.

The trail we had just come up is visible on the lower ridge, and just beyond several small lakes the Trans-Canada highway winds towards Calgary. Behind us, the top of the ridge beckoned.

I neglected to take a photo of the large reflector that is part of this viewpoint. It was used to bounce radio signals around corners and mountains, and might still be active. However, in researching links for this post, I ran across the blog Hiking with Barry, which has a good picture of the structure in his post on this very hike. Barry did a great job with his photos.

It wasn't clear at first how to proceed towards the Fire Lookout, but we had just to continue west on the rocky promontory until the way starts to climb up the ridge again. This walk was turning into a good training exercise for our lungs, which are accustomed to an altitude of 1,000 feet. The fire lookout is at about 6,600 feet, and 2,000 feet above the lake.

The Barrier Lake Fire Lookout is one of the remaining actively staffed lookouts during fire season. Signs request that you do not peer into the house, interfere with equipment, or otherwise disturb the warden.

However, while we were nearby the warden came out to inspect some of his instruments, and Joan and I (especially Joan) had a good conversation with him. Below the house, other hikers were picnicking on the helicopter pad. There are also picnic tables in the shade just below the summit.

As usual, I was focusing on the panorama. It's a good view up there, of course -- it's a fire lookout. To the west, the town of Exshaw and a large quarrying operation are visible down in the valley of the Bow River. There is a trail and mountain bike route through the wooded valley down to the Trans-Canada highway.

Here's a closeup of Exshaw and the quarry. There is also a long Canadian Pacific train; this is the major transportation route between the west coast and the rest of Canada.

Looking to the northeast isn't bad either.

Then we returned the way we had come, completing an excellent hike. Tomorrow, we would move on to Pocaterra Cirque and Mt. Engadine Lodge.

Owling We Did Go

2011-11-30T16:59:00.001-05:00

Let's take a break from the travel posts on this blog, and let me tell you about what Joan and I did Thanksgiving evening. We went owling. That is, we visited Kelly Williams-Sieg and Bob Placier at the Buzzards Roost Nature Preserve Banding Station, near Chillicothe, Ohio, hoping to see a Northern saw-whet owl. In addition to being a bird bander, Kelly is an instructor and PhD student at Ohio University, while Bob is an instructor in the School of Natural Resources at Hocking College.

At Buzzards Roost the permit-holding bird banders deploy mist nets to capture birds for purposes of study. The nets come in various mesh sizes, so the banders need a net with a mesh size suited to the size of the birds they're interested in. To avoid possibly injuring a bird, no netting attempts are made if there is rain, wet snow, or winds above 15mph.

Once captured the birds are measured, weighed, and banded (a small aluminum anklet is placed on the bird). Other banding stations will report to Buzzard's Roost if they catch a bird that had been banded there, and vice-versa. This exchange and accumulation of information allows study of bird populations and migratory patterns. In the autumn, Kelly and Bob study small owls, especially the saw-whet owl, which summers in Quebec and other northern forests. The saw-whet travels at night and is inconspicuous during the day, so little is known about their presence in Ohio: when? how many? how far do they go? (As an aside, let me note that the name "saw-whet" is probably a corruption of the French word for owl, chouette.)

Joan had attended a public-invited owling night earlier in November, and had a chance to see and hold one of these awwww-inducing bundles. I was away in Fairfield, but another one of the 40 or so visitors took this picture for her:

Kelly was kind enough to invite Joan, and by extension me, to drive down to Buzzards Roost, about 80 minutes away, as a post-feast activity on Thanksgiving evening. Upon arrival at the parking area, I heard an odd, regularly repeating tone. It turns out that the owls are lured towards the nets by broadcasting loud recordings of their calls.

On our first walk in the dark down to the nets we discovered an Eastern screech owl, not a saw-whet, but this was still exciting for us. The screech owl, about twice the weight of a saw-whet, has false ear tufts that give the diminutive beastie a distinctive appearance.

Back at the house, Kelly and Bob prepared to enter the data for our screech owl, which was carried in a mesh sack. In this picture Bob is extracting the owl from the sack, while Kelly prepares a log entry.

Then Bob took some measurements, while the owl's talons still clung to the sack. The screech owl kept its eyes closed or slitted, as if thinking, "If I can't see you, you can't see me."

Once the owl was freed from the bag, the feathers were inspected under ultraviolet light. There is a short explanation of this process here and also here. To briefly quote,

A pigment in owl feathers called porphyrin fluoresces under ultraviolet light, and because it fades quickly with time, the degree of glow gives banders a handy way to age feathers.

A more detailed description of aging the bird by UV light is located here. Zooming in on our screech owl's wing:

Then it was time to weigh the bird, a process in which the owl was not harmed but lost some dignity.

Kelly and Bob were reluctant to guess at the gender of our owl. For the Eastern screech owl, the average weight of males and females differs by only 8 grams (208 vs. 200).

Then it was time for us to admire our guest. Here, Bob holds him/her, and you can see a band on one leg. It turns out that this owl was captured and banded at this same station three years ago! Now that he/she was no longer being stuffed into cups, the owl's eyes have opened some but not fully.

There were three other visitors to the banding station that night: Tim, who lives close by, and his two sons. One son was the first volunteer to hold the owl.

The owl's behavior is very relaxed, not struggling, as if it were tame. But it is not, it is just waiting for a chance. During the earlier public-invited evening, a saw-whet wasn't held tightly enough by one of the audience, and the owl immediately tried to fly away. It hit a window at low speed and was recovered without harm.

Then I got my chance. The owl felt quite warm to the touch; this article states that owls average a body temperature of 104°F.

I snapped this closeup while Joan was holding the owl.

Then the screech owl was placed in a dark room so that his/her eyes could adapt to the dark. Releasing an owl who can't yet see in the dark could result in the owl crashing into an obstacle. When we went down to check the nets for a second time, we took the owl along (in the sack) as we trod down almost to the parking area, where there was more of an opening. It was a moonless light with twinkling stars and the steady beacon of Jupiter, and by this second walk, I was able to walk without my headlamp, navigating by the opening the road made in the trees silhouetted against the sky, and the paler surface of the road.

Kelly handed the owl to one of the sons -- they agreed to take turns releasing owls -- and when let go the owl shot off. It was fast; I never saw it, although others said he passed directly overhead!

The second and third time we checked the mist nets there were no owls. If you're trying to establish how late in the year saw-whets are in Ohio, then you've got to work past the last to find out. Strolling up and down the hill to the nets was a good way to work off some of the Thanksgiving feast, in any case. And I was thrilled with holding my first owl.

We'll be back next fall.

Washington Odyssey: Mount Rainier (part 2)

2011-11-28T15:45:00.000-05:00

July 6
Our second and final day exploring Mount Rainier National Park began with a long drive to the White River Campground, the jumping-off spot for the Emmons Moraine Trail. (We would have several longish drives this day.) The trail starts out broad and gentle, with occasional peeks at Mount Rainier.

There was one switchback area, but the trail was still in good condition. Note the young girl passing us!

And here is my obligatory watercourse photograph, a small stream that crosses the trail.

The moisture and soils at this point on the trail supported several species of wildflowers, including this trillium.

As we continued to gradually ascend, the view towards the mountain opened up, and parts of the moraine left behind by Emmons Glacier, on the northeastern side of Mount Rainier, came into view. Some damage from the intense spring flooding was already visible.

One mile from the end of the White River Campground the trail splits, with the Emmons Moraine Trail leaving to the left, and the Glacier Basin Trail continuing on. Just before turning left we began to see snow reappearing on the main trail, in the shady parts. On the moraine trail, we soon had to cross the Inter Fork.

Fortunately, a temporary bridge was provided, with handrails. As you can see, there was so much downed timber that materials for the bridge would have been right at hand.

After crossing the bridge, the trail first winds through the broadest section of the moraine, with Rainier straight ahead.

The trail then begins to hug the edge of the moraine. The next photo also shows the terminal moraine, a mass of rubble and ice at the foot of the mountain, with a melt stream issuing from it. We're walking up along the lateral moraine, on the right, which hosts conifers and hardy bushes. Its composition, of rubble left behind by the retreating glacier, is revealed on the steep, bare slopes.

Zooming in on the foot of the terminal moraine, we can see the melt stream emerging from the debris-blanketed ice. Always take your binoculars.

Looking back the way we had come, there was a small glacial lake cupped in the moraine material, and beyond our valley, another range of mountains.

Here we had lunch. The sun was bright, and the vegetation had become shorter and sparse, so I sat facing away from the sun, which warmed and dried my back after I removed my daypack. On the way back to the campground and car, we encountered this calypso orchid.

The next drive was to Sunrise Point, where the road to the Sunrise Visitor Center makes a 180° turn along Sunrise Ridge. There is a parking area here from which to admire 360° of mountains, including, of course, Rainier.

This small lake just below the point still had a frozen surface, although pockets of melt water speckled the snow.

A short drive further took us to the visitor center, at 6400' altitude, which would not open for two more days because of the snow.

This picture shows Rainier looming behind the closed center.

We took a short hike from the parking area, but not on the trail we intended, the Emmons Vista trail. The piled snow on the edge of the parking area obscured our trail. Yes, there was a sign, but there was also a three or four foot mound of snow to be surmounted, which deflected our attention. We followed the broad and smooth, if snow-covered, access road west, and then a trail on its left. On the trail the snow was deeper, making the walk slower and giving me an appreciation for snowshoes. Finally we decided we wouldn't get to a significant viewpoint or turnaround point soon, and walked back. First we observed, through binoculars, climbers working their way down Rainier; we thought 3pm was late to be up on the mountain, it being a sunny day, but there they were. This picture shows our closest approach to Rainier.

The drive to Paradise required backtracking almost all the way to the Ohanapecosh Visitor Center, and then driving on the Paradise road. The roads and parking area were clear of snow,

but snow was still everywhere, except a few south-facing slopes, despite Paradise being 1,000 feet lower than Sunrise (5400' vs. 6400'). In photos one usually sees the meadows of Paradise dappled with spring wildflowers but this time, well, here's a picture of one trailhead.

The overall view towards Rainier was this:

Besides hiking and being a jumping-off point for attempts to climb Mount Rainier, Paradise is known for the Paradise Inn. In this next picture, you see the entrance and one wing of the Inn. There is also a symmetry-fulfilling wing on the left, outside the photo.

We had an excellent dinner in the Paradise Inn Dining Room, and explored the lobby and gift shop afterwards.

This gentleman was playing the piano in the lobby when we first arrived, but sadly he didn't stay long after that.

Then it was time for the long drive back to our motel in Packwood, and to pack for tomorrow's drive back to Richland.

July 7
We began by driving east on US Route 12, to pass through to the dry side of the mountains. There was an extra 20-minute wait while road crews worked on damage from, yet again, the heavy snow melt. We drove past Rimrock Lake, where we stopped briefly, and lunched in Ellensburg. I didn't take any pictures this day. After unloading the rental car at Lynn and Elisabeth's house we returned it to the airport, and repacked yet again with airline rather than automotive packing restrictions and strategies in mind.

July 8
Today Joan and I flew home. The leg between Richland/Pasco and Denver was scenic, and I took a few interesting pictures from the airplane.

And then, after 3 weeks in the state of Washington, we were home again.

Washington Odyssey: Mount Rainier National Park (part 1)

2011-11-01T19:45:00.000-04:00

July 5
Today we departed from the Blue Heron Inn and headed for Mount Rainier National Park. We had a quick lunch in the town of Packwood, only 88 miles away, and where we would also spend two nights. Then it was up highways 12 and 123 to the Ohanapecosh Visitor Center, in the southeastern corner of the park, where, as well as viewing the exhibits, we picked up a map of the hiking trails in the area.

The first walk we took is known as the "Grove of the Patriarchs," a gentle walk through old growth forest.

After the first stretch of forest, there is a suspension bridge across the river.

The sign says "Recommended one person on the bridge at a time," but sometimes that warning is ignored. After the bridge, much of the path is on a boardwalk.

The fallen trees provide a platform and, as they decay, nutrition for seedlings and young trees. Such trees are called "nurse logs."

In the above photo, several trees are growing from one nurse log whose decay is advanced but not complete. Often a straight line, or colonnade, of trees reveals where once there was a nurse log.

One downed tree revealed fascinating swirls and knobs, looking almost like a lava flow or topographic map.

At another point there was a short side path to the junction of a creek and a spring rich in iron and sulfur.

A frog was calmly spying on us from just a few feet away. I wonder what he thought of us?

A loop on the boardwalk took us through the heart of the grove, where the air was especially cool and the sunlight heavily filtered by the canopy.

A special platform for photo opportunities had been built in front of two towering trees.

Here's a small part of what you see if you gaze up. Looking any higher than this, the glare of the sun interfered.

After returning to the parking area we crossed the road and headed down to Silver Falls. Generally, this trail is a moderate downhill grade. Here is picture looking back up the way we had come, with the path on the right.

This image is of the first major cascade of the falls.

There is a strong whirlpool at the bottom of this plunge, which had trapped a convoy of logs. I was fascinating by their spinning, and wondered how long it would take for them to finally escape. A long time, I expect, perhaps when the current finally slows down. Not while I was there. Although the view is heavily misted from the falls, I took this video.

A short distance further is a bridge that crosses the gorge, giving me a vantage point from which to look straight down.

And from the far side I took this picture aiming back up the watercourse.

This post has been full of trees and water. Well, we saw lots of trees and water on this Cascades trip. Waterfalls and bridges are very photogenic. I have a picture of a waterfall by the side of the road in this area, but I will omit it, to avoid overdosing you on waterfalls. Sitting on a rock to the side of this waterfall, however, was a juvenile American dipper, so we can expand this post to include trees, water, and birds. Always take your binoculars with you.

This fellow almost looks like a twin to the one we saw on Orcas Island; that picture is about three-quarters of the way into this post.

Tomorrow we would not get close to so much water, unless you count snow, but we would see Mount Rainier both on a hike and driving the highest paved road in the Mount Rainier National Park. Next post!

Washington Odyssey: Mount Saint Helens

2011-10-23T21:56:00.001-04:00

July 3
We started our first Mount St. Helens day at the nearby Silver Lake Visitors Center. It has a number of good exhibits, of which I took no pictures. The most memorable part of the visit was the local artists' show in one of their rooms. Elisabeth was particularly taken with a painting of Mt. Hood, of which she has many memories, but there was a technical glitch. The credit card reader had been set up in online, rather than offline, mode. Because it was now unconnected (no phone line), there was no way to convince it to process the transaction, despite repeated attempts. The written instructions left for the artist staffing the exhibit this morning were of no help. Digging into our pockets, we four managed to collectively solve this problem by paying cash. Now Elisabeth had the painting, which we would painstakingly pack into the car trunk three times: this day, the day we drove to Mt. Rainier, and the day we drove back to Richland.

Then we continued east towards the mountain. Unless you obtain the necessary permit, you are not allowed climb Mount St. Helens (some people do), so the approaches are limited to the west and east sides. Here's a roadside map that focuses on our approach:

The eastern sections, including the Windy Ridge Viewpoint at the terminus of Forest Road 99, were still closed for snow. Today we would explore areas before the mountain on State Route 504, and dedicate tomorrow to the mountain.

Our first stop after the visitors center was the Forest Learning Center, which is not part of the National Monument, but a cooperative effort of Weyerhaeuser Company, Washington State Department of Transportation and the Rocky Mountain Elk Foundation. Weyerhaeuser has extensive timber holdings in the area, many of which were affected by the blast. We didn't have the time to explore the exhibits, but ate our lunch outdoors and pondered the North Fork of the Toutle River, which was inundated by the ash and mudflows of the volcanic eruption. After 31 years, the vegetation has made a comeback.

Looking east, you can see the stream emerging from the wastelands at the foot of Mount St. Helens.

With binoculars there is a wealth of detail to be seen. Here is zoom photo from the same spot, revealing the extreme sinuosity of the watercourse.

From the center we drove on, past the now-shuttered Coldwater Ridge Visitors Center, to hike the Hummocks Trail. This is an opportunity to walk among the mounds and ravines of mud, stone, and ash and see the varying responses of the flora and fauna, which are returning faster than originally predicted. In places there are tall hummocks ...

where the sides are too steep to resist erosion. There are also partially exposed remnants of the forest that was here before May 18, 1980.

Sometimes the trail takes a turn to frame the mountain.

The water, especially during storms and spring melt, carves and slices the loosely packed terrain, creating slopes, wrinkles, and folds, while the plant life strives to anchor the ground.

Some of the cuts expose the stratigraphy of the flows, and how thin the green layer is.

Harry Glicken earned his doctorate mapping these flows, which resulted from three distinct collapse blocks of Mount St. Helens (click to enlarge, but you still may not be able to read the fine print).

Harry died in a pyroclastic flow at Mount Unzen, Japan, in 1991 that killed 43 people. He would have been killed by the Mount St. Helens eruption, but he was away on an interview; his replacement observer, David Johnston, lost his life instead. Johnston Ridge is named for David.

I'm thinking that life insurance for vulcanologists must be very expensive.

The story of the Hummocks Trail is also one of renewal. Several sheltered pockets of forest have sprung up, for example.

At one location there is a beaver dam and lodge. It must have been an arduous journey for the pioneer beavers, but that's what nature does. It relentlessly explores niches.

Every time we talked with someone and mentioned taking the Hummocks Trail, they asked "Did you see the beaver lodge?"

Dinner this evening was at Patty's Place, at the 19-mile marker on our road. The fruit cobblers were outstanding, and we resolved to return for tomorrow's supper.

We arrived back at the Blue Heron in time for sunset.

The snows on the mountain picked up the colors of the sky.

July 4
Today was dedicated to Mount St. Helens itself. Our first driving stop was the Loowit Lookout, a scant mile from the Johnston Ridge Observatory. The parking lot was not crowded.

The view towards Mount St. Helens was striking. Of course, everywhere on Johnston Ridge the view would be striking, but slightly different as you continued east. I took several dozens of pictures of the mountain this day.

From the Loowit Lookout, there is a trail that winds down the ridge, and after 3½-4 miles deposits you at the parking area for the Hummocks Trail. The Forest Service describes it hiking in the uphill direction. The next photo looks along the ridge in the downhill direction, although the slope isn't apparent yet.

In the other direction, uphill, you would arrive at the Johnston Ridge Observatory in less than a mile. You can see this trail in the earlier parking lot photo. The Monument has volunteers who help explain and recommend features to visitors, and we met our first one here. She recommended hiking up to the Observatory, but we had a different trail in mind.

We spent two hours at the observatory, taking in its exhibits and a marvelous video presentation which ends with the theater curtains drawing back to reveal the mountain looming in front of you. On cloudy or foggy days it would only be a blank gray wall of glass, but we were, as you can see from these photos, very lucky with the weather. We needed plenty of sunscreen.

The observatory is largely built into the ridge, and in the colors of the ridge. There is no imposing building to take a photo of, rather, it is impressive how well the observatory blends into the landscape. It is in the upper right of this photo.

After exploring the observatory and consuming our brown-bag lunches, we set off on the Boundary Trail, which winds eastward and then turns north around a shoulder of the ridge. The next image is two Google Maps views of the trail stitched together, with red dot "bread crumbs" showing where we went along the trail. You can see the Observatory parking area in the upper left, but for anything else, you'll need to click to enlarge! Mount St. Helens is off the bottom of the map.

The views of the mountain are continuous along the trail.

We later learned that the trail had been opened up only two days before, again because of lingering snow. The rangers must have waited until every inch of the path was clear!

As we continued to the east, the view into the caldera opened up, and the lava dome appeared, evidence even to the casual observer that the mountain is still alive.

Here is a maximum-zoom photo of the dome.

By cropping severely, I can zoom in further, and if you click on the image to enlarge it, you can see steam rising from the rocks near the center. Through binoculars, the plume reminded me of steam pouring up from a hot teakettle.

After heading east for while, the trail jogs south before coming around a corner and heading north. This is the narrowest part of the path.

At the switchback, both Mt. Adams and Spirit Lake come into view, along with the still-inaccessible Windy Ridge on the far side of the lake.

Zooming in on Mt. Adams, we can also see the straight line of the road on Windy Ridge, with snowbanks.

Where the trail swings back to the north is the closest approach to Mount St. Helens. Here's what it looked like:

Near our turnaround point, we observed a female horned lark, who had been misled -- with the trail closed until two days before, she had chosen to build her nest by the side of the quiet way, but now there were frequent interlopers walking by.

On our return we encountered this fearless chipmunk. He's seen people before.

Back at the observatory we took the brief paved trail to the official observation point, where we met another Monument volunteer and had an engaging conversation. Then, down on the main viewing deck in front of the Observatory entrance,

a ranger gave a brief presentation on the 1980 eruption. A concise timeline of the eruption is available here.

Also on the grounds is a memorial to those who died in the eruption.

On our way back down route 504 we stopped at a parking area to admire the Hoffstadt Creek bridge, the largest of the 14 new bridges built post-eruption.

This spot was at the edge of the blast zone, as described in the Weyerhaeuser sign at the viewpoint.

Then it was time for dinner at Patty's Place, for which we were barely in time; they were closing early for the 4th of July holiday. It had been a long day, but a satisfying one. Afterwards at the Blue Heron we packed for our next day's journey, to Mt. Rainier.

Washington Odyssey: North Cascades and Onwards

2011-10-17T16:18:00.001-04:00

July 1
This day we took a long and scenic drive through the North Cascades National Park along the North Cascades Highway (State Route 20), and hiked along the Thunder Creek and Fourth of July trails.

We drove west from the Freestone Inn, and immediately began climbing. After several miles we passed through a hairpin turn and stopped at a pullout.

You can see the snow; the air was bracing and the scene was brilliantly illuminated. We were, it turned out, only a couple of minutes from the Washington Pass Overlook (5638 feet).

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The overlook has a short loop trail with views that beg you to linger, such as this one where, near the center, you can see a part of the hairpin curve. As always, you can click to enlarge the photo.

The trail is paved, and there are handrails in the important spots. Here, even on July 1, there were small areas where a snowbank covered the trail. The parking area had obviously been cleared by plows.

The Rainy Lake trail was at the top of our list, but at 4855 feet, the parking area was still filled with snow, and also the woods beyond. We continued driving the long, straight downhill and arrived at the Diablo Dam overlook, well above Diablo Lake itself, which is 891 feet above sea level. Having lost thousands of feet in altitude, we found the air much warmer and the snow gone. The dam, in the center of the next photo, began generating electricity for Seattle in 1936.

Zooming in on the Thunder Arm, just to the left of the above photo, we see canoeists enjoying the sunshine (click to enlarge).

We drove on to the visitors center for the national park. This spacious center had several engaging audiovisual exhibits, a bookstore/gift-shop, and an stuffed banana slug mascot.

It was also a good spot for our brown-bag lunch! We afterwards walked a nature trail looping from the visitors center, and at the main overlook, an enthusiastic Bostonian offered to take our picture. We couldn't turn him down, even if the lighting was less than ideal. I hope he continued to enjoy the rest of his trip as much as he was enjoying this day.

From left, it is Joan, Ben, Lyn, and Elisabeth.

We drove back a few miles to Diablo Lake and then to the Colonial Creek campground, to begin hiking on the Thunder Creek trail. No, I can't explain the difference in the names. Perhaps Colonial Creek is a tributary of Thunder Creek that enters somewhere near the campground.

The trail, friendly and wide, begins where Thunder Creek is also broad and slow. The creek narrows as we gently rise walking up the valley.

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The forest here has an open, unobscured feeling. The generous moisture -- we are on the wet side of the Cascades -- allows the trees to grow on top of rocks.

Many of the trees in the next photo, rooted in graveled soil where the creek floods every spring, appear to have succumbed to some event.

Further on the creek has narrowed, and is still high from the prolonged snowmelt.

At this point the trail crosses the creek.

Shortly after crossing the bridge the trail forks, with the Fourth of July trail (heading up to Fourth of July Pass at 3507 feet) leaving to the left. We decided to climb up towards Fourth of July for a short while before turning around. There were downed trees from the heavy snowfall, and I thought the growth rings and chainsaw ripples on this cross-section worth a picture.

On the way back down to the junction, we were all in favor of a pit stop, inspired by a sign at the beginning of a short spur that said "Pit Toilet". We were unanimous in calling it the best view from a toilet that we had ever seen.

Then we were in fine shape to hike back to the car and take the long drive back to Washington Pass, the Freestone Inn and dinner.

July 2
This day was a travel day, starting with a hearty breakfast at the Mazama General Store. I took a picture of this beauty in their courtyard.

Then it was time to retrace our drive of yesterday through the Cascades, and more, but we had time to stop for a walk at the Gorge Creek Falls and Gorge Dam, which, along with Ross Dam and Diablo Dam, is part of the Upper Skagit River Hydroelectric Project. As you can see from this Google Maps view, there is both an interesting gorge where the creek joins Gorge Lake, and a parking area for the short hike to view the dam.

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To view the side gorge, you cross the bridge.

You can look straight down as well as sideways, for the bridge and its walkway are made of metal grating.

The best views were still obtained by leaning on the railing and looking out and down.

The walk to view the Gorge Dam was a pleasant leg-stretch, but tree growth narrowed the view.

We had hours yet to go, but leaving the Cascades area we came across the perfect place for a snack, for "elevenses," or more precisely, "twelvsies."

Cookies and ice cream, berries and other good things were welcome; the day was warming up, and steady stream of traffic arrived and departed. From the side, the farm shop exhibited an interesting swayback, almost a Thai architectural note.

Then it was time to drive on, through Seattle and down to the Blue Heron Inn, a bed and breakfast just a stone's throw from the Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument Visitor's Center at Silver Lake. According to Google Maps, today's drive totaled 357 miles.

The ground story, between the garages, is a wine-tasting room run in cooperation with Mt. St. Helens Cellars. The top two stories have guest rooms and spacious common areas.

When we arrived, the manager on duty was overjoyed, for she was anxious about whether the Neely party really existed (Lyn had made the reservations). Two years ago the founder and original owner of the inn had sold it, but the new owner had let it run down and eventually stopped making any payments on it. The original owner went to court to have the property returned, but while the issue was being decided, the new owner milked the situation, abandoning all maintenance yet continuing to take people's deposits up until the day he was evicted.

The only evidence that a party of four named Neely had booked two rooms for the Fourth of July weekend was a single line scribbled in pencil in a random notebook page. There was no address, no phone number, no contact information whatsoever recorded for the elusive Neely. The original owner, reviewing the ghastly situation after retaking possession, considered dropping this most mysterious reservation of many mysterious reservations, but the manager decided to retain it. What if a family of four showed up on the Fourth of July weekend and were told they had no rooms? Still, the thought of having two empty rooms on the long holiday weekend was worrisome. When we walked in, excitement reigned and the owner was phoned to let her know that the Neelys had arrived!

Because the deposit had been sent to the delinquent ex-owner, it didn't exist for the current and restored owner. We would have to pay the entire amount, and Lyn would need to recover her deposit from the ex-owner, who had a lawyer who was handling reimbursements. There was a form detailing what information to mail to the lawyer.

We felt fortunate to have our rooms, and the reinstated staff had done a great job on short notice to repair or paint over the damage and neglect of the ex-owner. (Repossession had happened only two months before.) We were happy with our rooms, and with the extensive hot breakfast feasts at a long community table. And the fresh cookies each afternoon.

The famous volcano and object of our stop here, Mount Saint Helens, is visible from the inn. It's about 46 miles away by car, slightly less as the crow flies.

The mountain presents itself well through binoculars; here is a zoom photo.

Our next two days would be spent exploring the Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument, and, in a spoiler, I'll tell you that the weather co-operated.

Washington Odyssey: Hikes near Mazama

2011-10-15T14:14:00.000-04:00

June 29

That's Ma-ZAM-ma, pronounced like "Alabama." This day began our Mazama-based adventures, and I'll start by praising the Mazama General Store. There's a little bit of everything you might need crammed into this gem: books, medicines, soaps, and lotions, clothing, gear, backpacking food, real food, and advice. Joan and I received some very helpful recommendations about the hikes on our short list, and we scarfed down breakfast sandwiches, which they will grill for you so that you're having a hot meal along with your coffee or hot chocolate. They also have a side patio/sculpture garden to enjoy on sunny days.

Arriving back at the Freestone before Lyn and Elisabeth had finished their cook-in breakfast, Joan and I walked around the pond and observed several young birds, possibly phoebes, playing around one of the cabins.

Today's hiking goal was Cedar Falls. Because of the delayed spring, there were still several types of flowers blooming.

This next picture shows a trailside tree with moss, a tiny slice of the trail, and snow on the higher hills ahead.

Looking more closely, there's definitely still snow up there!

But always keeps scanning the side of the trail.

It's obvious why they call it Cedar Falls; the trees love this moist gorge.

The falls are a quick series of shorter but still impressive cascades, and the water was abundant. With a modicum of agility the hiker can reach a good viewpoint for two of the cascades.

Logs are thoughtfully provided, making this an excellent luncheon spot.

June 30
Our choice for the next day was the West Fork Methow River Trail. (It's pronounced "MET-how".) One of the first features of this trail is a burned area from a 2003 fire.

We soon came to a log bridge over an engorged tributary of the Methow. It was high above the water, narrow, and without handrails.

Our party turned around, and switched our attention to the Robinson Creek Trail, a couple of miles east. The trail climbed rapidly into its side valley; from occasional side openings and avalanche chutes we could see rock formations on the other side.

At the start the trail was narrow and wet from capturing rivulets, but as we gained height the trail became much more pleasant. Our lunch and turnaround point was a surprise -- a creek crossing that had an incomplete replacement bridge to inspect!

Standing or sitting on the fresh planks gives a mesmerizing perspective as the water rushes straight towards you.

On our way back down to the trailhead, we admired several smaller-scaled glories alongside the trail.

Next, we ventured down a section of the Methow Community Trail, which winds miles down the Methow Valley to the next town, Winthrop. This upper section is a broad and comfortable avenue, as you can see.

Our first encounter on the trail was an arts wall.

This retaining wall was decorated in 2002 by the 6th grade students.

Then we came up to the Tawlks-Foster suspension bridge. This sign got our puzzled attention.

How do the salmon get up on the bridge?

I recorded a video clip that, eventually, includes the bridge. It starts out gazing across the river, but once I carefully find the horizon, it pans left to include the suspension bridge.

On the trail beyond we found this gorgeous garter snake. Click to enlarge the photo, and see his/her red spots.

This hike wrapped up our second day in Mazama. After dinner our adventures were unexpectedly prolonged as we spent exciting time hunting meadow voles.

It began when I thought I saw something darting under the door between our condo and Lyn and Elisabeth's. Keeping a wary eye out, we soon saw more motion, and knew it was a small rodent of some kind.

How do you catch a vole? I tried a variation of our spider catch-and-release technique with success. Taking a large drinking glass, I lurked, waiting for the vole, who favored running alongside a wall instead of through the middle of the room. This habit allowed me to shove the glass against the baseboard as the vole dashed by, trapping him/her in the glass. Slide a flat metal spatula to cover the opening, and suddenly you have a vole transportation chamber. Our first vole was carried out into the foliage beyond the patio and released gently. The second capture, by Joan, was followed by a big toss and the vole traced a thrilling arc through the air, something to brag to his grand-voles about. At this point Elisabeth was laughing so hard she was gasping for breath. The third vole decided to vamoose and squeezed under the door to the outer hall (it didn't even slow him down).

On later inspection we could see that mousetraps had been deployed behind some of the furniture in both condos. The bait was all gone, however, and we notified the management when we checked out. There was, alas, no discount for our efforts.

Tomorrow, still based at the Freestone Inn, we would venture deep into the North Cascades.

Washington Odyssey: Through the Scablands

2011-09-27T20:16:00.247-04:00

June 27
Our first destination as we drove through the scablands, usually within sight of the Columbia River, was the Ginkgo Petrified Forest State Park. This park has both a walking trail and an interpretive center, which are separated by a mile or so of road. This link to Google Maps shows the park as south of the road into Vantage, but all the interesting stuff is on the north side.

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There is a modest building at the entrance to the trail. It does provide shade, which is important in the summer months.

At the beginning of the trail, we read the rattlesnake warning that is common in the scablands. It's a standard park sign. We didn't expect to actually encounter a rattler, but tomorrow we would.

This picture looks back towards the entrance building. After the first switchback the trail is all gravel and sagebrush and dust.

The trail features petrified ginkgo, elm, redwood, douglas fir, and other trees. To protect them from any further damage by souvenir collectors or thoughtless tourists, the trees (some are stumps, some are horizontal log fragments) are each protected by a heavy metal grating.

Each stop has a number, as you see, which is a key into a free booklet.

On their return to the entrance, Lyn and Elisabeth discovered a napping bushy-tailed woodrat. This identification comes from a ranger at the interpretive center, not from us. The especially charming part of this discovery was that the woodrat was clearly dreaming; every so often he/she would emit a loud squeak.

We drove down to the interpretive center and had our lunch. Here is a panorama of the valley; the center sits just above the river. The bridge you see on the right is for I-90, and it is visible in the Google Map at the start of this post.

The interpretive center also hosts about 60 petroglyphs that were rescued from rising waters when the Wanapum Dam was built just downstream.

Just a few miles up I-90 is the Wild Horse Monument, a collection of 15 sculptures called "Grandfather Lets Loose the Ponies."

We didn't climb to the top, but there were views in many directions from the parking area. The next photo looks back and highlights the oasis that is the interpretive center we had just left.

Just a few miles further, and a couple miles off of I-90, is Frenchman Coulee. This is a broad and deep canyon formed during the ice age floods, as this striking image from Google Maps shows.

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Here is the view from eye-level near the top of the road.

Pausing amid the stones along the side of the road was a very handsome lizard.

The variety of rock formations at Frenchman Coulee attracts many rock climbers, from beginners to expert. One popular formation, behind me as I took the photos above, is called "The Feathers."

A closer examination of the rocks at most any time of day will reveal climbers.

We stopped at Ephrata, our overnight stay, chosen solely for its location on our route to Mazama. It was too late to see the collection of buildings at the Grant County Historical Society, but the staff kindly allowed us to peruse the memorabilia, keepsakes, and antiques in the indoor section. After driving up to Soap Lake, we had dinner at Don's restaurant. Soap Lake is known for its mineral water and curative mud. As the interest in taking such cures in a remote location has waned over the years, Soap Lake came up with the idea for a supplementary tourist attraction, still in the planning stages, a gigantic lava lamp. Best wishes to Soap Lake!

June 28
We began the next day continuing north. On our way to the Dry Falls Heritage Area we paused at a viewpoint above the heart of Sun Lake State Park, one of several state parks in this stretch of the Columbia River.

No more than a five minute drive from this photo is the visitor center for the Dry Falls Heritage Area. After pulling into the parking area, most people are drawn immediately to the overlook.

Before the ice age floods, a waterfall existed near Soap Lake, about 15 miles away. Then the cold floods came, and the waterfall eroded headward as the churning water yanked chunks of rock from the face of the falls. Three and a half miles wide and with a drop of over 400 feet, the falls then would have been among the largest in the world.

The visitor center itself has exhibits on geology, natural history, and of course the formation of the Dry Falls. A sudden commotion alerted us to an unexpected visitor next to the door to the women's restroom -- both restrooms have exterior entrances.

This rattlesnake was enjoying the shade provided by the center. I certainly kept my distance, as did half a dozen others, and used the camera's zoom to capture this picture. The ranger at the center contacted the "rattlesnake guy," who relocated our guest far off into the sagebrush.

We lunched in Grand Coulee, and on our way out of town drove to an overlook to view the Grand Coulee Dam. This immense structure was started during the Great Depression, and was finished in time for World War II, the Manhattan project, and extensive irrigation for agribusiness. The viewpoint needed to be at least a mile away to allow visitors to take in the entire scene.

Note how the heavy spring runoff (twice the usual snowpack) has swamped some of the low-lying areas near the dam (click on the photo to enlarge). You can't get a true impression of the dam unless you hear its thunder, and see the plumes, so I've included a brief video clip:

Then we turned towards Mazama, our base of operations for the next three days. We followed the valleys into the North Cascades National Park.

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We checked into the Freestone Inn. This view from the back patio of the inn shows that we're out of the badlands and into the mountains, albeit on the dry side of the Cascades.

Joan and I took a walk around the pond, and I took this picture looking towards the Freestone. We're looking at the back of the inn, but that's more scenic than the front, which has a parking area and gravel roads leading to cabins. The Freestone's web site photo is also of the back!

In the next three days we'd be tackling some hikes. Our options were reduced because of the lingering snowpack at the higher elevations, but as you'll see, we found good choices.

Washington Odyssey: Pasco and Richland

2011-09-22T21:56:00.001-04:00

After a month away from the keyboard, accumulating more adventures to document, it's time to continue the Washington odyssey.

We departed early the next morning from Bellingham's airport, but not back to Columbus; rather, we were journeying, via Seattle, to the Tri-Cities (Pasco/Richland/Kennewick) in southeastern Washington. Located smack in the middle of the rain shadow east of the Cascade Mountains, the Tri-Cities receive 7 to 8 inches of rain per year, and the climate is classified as a shrub steppe -- think sagebrush. The Google Map below shows many green areas, which are almost all irrigated. The exceptions would be the banks and islands of the Columbia River.

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Why the Tri-Cities? Joan's best friend since high school, Lyn Neely, and her daughter Elisabeth live there, and being in the neighborhood (Bellingham is much closer than Columbus!), we planned to get together. In fact, Lyn and Elisabeth's first proposed itinerary would have required at least four weeks to follow. To fit our schedule it was pared down to two.

This area is perhaps best known for the nuclear activities at the Hanford Site, including the reactor that created the material for the first plutonium-based atomic bombs. Now the primary work at Hanford is cleaning up decades of radioactive waste through vitrification, or blending of the waste with glass-like materials. The influence of the World War II and Cold War eras lingers here; for example, the local high school team is known as the Richland Bombers, whose logo is a mushroom cloud. We also had fantastic pizzas at the Atomic Ale Brewpub, although I skipped the Halflife Hefeweizen and Plutonium Porter.

The next morning the four of us took a walk on the trail along the Columbia River. The river was high, due to the winter's snowpack being twice the normal amount. Here you can see a submerged section of the trail, in front of the benches.

Later that day we visited LIGO, the Laser Interferometer Gravity-Wave Observatory, during a scheduled open house. The purpose of this observatory is to observe gravitation waves, predicted by Einstein but never yet seen. Because the waves are expected to be extremely weak, this is no simple task. In short, the experiment bounces laser beams back and forth repeatedly down each of two four-kilometer arms that are at right angles to each other. A passing gravity wave will create a discrepancy between the two arms -- of about one-thousandth the diameter of a proton! That's small. In this photo, one arm stretches towards the vitrification plant being built in the distance (click on the photo to enlarge, and then squint).

Here is the main building, and the beginnings of both arms.

Extreme measures are taken to reduce noise and vibration that would interfere with the sensitive measurements of LIGO. The air conditioning units, for example, are mounted on springs on a separate, external concrete pad. When observations are underway, airplanes are requested to not fly over the site. (Observations were not going on at the time of our visit, or for a while to come, because the LIGO is undergoing advanced upgrades that will increase its sensitivity by a factor of 1,000 in 2014/2015.) Ultimately, an instrument this sensitive cannot be isolated from all noise. Predictable effects, such as the tides, can be compensated for. The final test for any potential gravitational wave event is whether the same event was seen at the twin LIGO facility in Louisiana.

In the next photo, a motorcycle belonging to one of the lead scientists is parked near the main building, in a surplus section of the protective shell for the LIGO arms.

Before setting out on our tour, we also accompanied Lyn and Elisabeth to a choir practice at their church, and to the Sunday service. We also visited the Columbia River Exhibition of History, Science, and Technology, a museum with local roots that was hosting a traveling exhibit on early explorers and mapmakers of the Columbia River Valley.

The day after our visit to LIGO, we walked to the top of Badger Mountain. This local prominence was saved from the development lapping at its feet by the Friends of Badger Mountain. During the Ice Age floods and the repeated temporary formation of Lake Lewis, Badger Mountain and similar peaks would have been islands. Ice-rafted erratic glacial boulders were carried onto the flanks of Badger.

From the top I created a panorama of about 180°. I was sloppy, so some of the foreground does not line up, but you can see the Tri-Cities and the Columbia River laid out upon the flat plain (click on the photo to enlarge).

Soon it was time to pick up a rental car at the airport and start our foursome's loop through Washington state. The first stage was a two-day journey to Mazama, in the North Cascades. That will be the subject of the next post.

Sailing the San Juans: The Wrapup Takes Us Many Places

2011-08-23T20:07:00.001-04:00

The final morning of our NatHab adventure was clear.

After breakfast Joan and I did some walking about before the bus departed. Here is a good look at the pier of Roche Harbor, from one of the floating docks.

Several shops lined the sidewalk leading to the pier, and we were particularly pleased to see this one.

Several of the lime kilns from the last century, the industry that created Roche Harbor in the first place, are still standing.

Roche Harbor began as a company town, and has evolved into a privately-owned resort where you can stay in a hotel or purchase real estate. Signs explain different aspects of the harbor's history, such as this one about the chapel ...

and these about the kilns and the making of lime from limestone. (As always, click on the image to enlarge it.)

Our first destination was the Lime Kiln Lighthouse, which we had seen from the water during our orca-watching excursions. Today we could prowl around it by land. From the parking area we followed a trail through a grove of young madrone trees, noted for their bright reddish-orange peeling bark.

We had sunny glimpses of the lighthouse as we drew closer.

The more adventurous among us clambered around the rocks surrounding the lighthouse, for the view and for photos. I really like this one, looking up.

We continued walking across the spit of land supporting the lighthouse, to investigate the cove on the far side, passing a larger, fallen madrone on the way.

The cliffs on the far side are the nesting site for several dozen guillemots. They flew in and out, dropping precipitously from the cliff to gain speed, and flapping furiously as they headed out to sea. Their ability to fly looks improbable, just as that of puffins, to which they are related. No puffins here, though, it's a guillemot spot. You can't see them in this photo; they are too far away and we did not wish to disturb them.

Then it was time to drive back to Roche Harbor to pick up the members of our group that had preferred to sleep in or engage in some shopping. Joan and I dropped off the bus to briefly inspect a sculpture garden just outside the harbor; the bus would pick us up on its way back out. The "garden" has multiple paths through mowed fields, around ponds, and through the occasional grove of trees.

I shall present just four of the sculptures, to provide an impression of the place.

It was not without wildlife, included this hooded merganser family.

The bus, after picking us up, drove swiftly to Friday Harbor, to claim a place in the queue for the ferry. Missing the ferry would disrupt the schedule for the rest of the day! Once the bus was secure, we shopped and lunched in Friday Harbor. This is a snapshot of part of the town close by the waterfront.

The ferry in the next photograph, one of 22 in the Washington State Ferry System, is a close copy of ours, which was the Elwha. (Elwha is a simple anagram of "whale," which does not signify anything except that I enjoy and notice simple anagrams.) Until I started composing this blog entry I was unaware of the Elwha's star-crossed history during the 90s. Just as well, I think.

Several of us had gathered on the forward deck of the Elwha when a loud departure horn blasted, and we all jumped reflexively. At this point the captain opened one of the bridge windows, and said, "What do you want? They won't let me fire a howitzer." There's a man who enjoys his job.

A sailboat raced in the other direction, but largely parallel to us, as Friday Harbor receded from view.

Our ferry did not return directly to Anacortes; there was an intermediate stop at Lopez Island.

The deck gave us a good vantage point.

This fascinated supervisor preferred to stay behind the windows.

Then the Elwha departed Lopez Island for the main terminal at Anacortes.

From Anacortes our bus headed north to Bellingham. It was instructive to see railroad tracks and million-dollar houses close by each other, in some sections, because close to the water is where they either needed to be or wanted to be.

Melissa had arranged a late afternoon demonstration at our Bellingham hotel (the Chrysalis Inn again) by Ernestine, a Lummi woman who is actively engaged in reviving traditional crafts. This lady had a wonderful smile and a positive approach to life, acknowledging that you cannot fix the past and that it is best to go forward with a heart unburdened by anger. Her sense of humor was always cheerful, even when she was poking fun at her second husband.

Here she and one of her daughters are splitting soaked strips of cedar.

Her hand is quicker than my camera.

She brought a bounty of examples of her work.

Then it was time for our farewell dinner, at the Nimbus Restaurant, way up on the 14th floor of one of the tallest buildings in downtown Bellingham. The olive oil bread dip had been decorated in honor of our group.

The windows on the 14th floor (some say 15th, there is a brief staircase to the restaurant itself) gave us a panoramic view of the sunset, which fascinated us with the many strata of clouds that accumulate above a coastline.

The dinner was excellent, but Melissa confided on our way back that the restaurant would be closing soon, a victim of the economic slowdown and high rent. And, sadly, the Nimbus closed on or about July 4th, but its Facebook page is still active and some "exciting news" was hinted at on August 1st. A reopening of the Nimbus at any location is on the wish list of many in Bellingham. The Facebook page (you must have a Facebook account to see it) is here.

Early the next morning Joan and I flew to Seattle. We connected not to go home, however, but to fly to Pasco/Richland, also in Washington, to visit Lyn and Elisabeth Neely, longtime friends. Our tour of Washington sights will be the subject of another series of posts.

Sailing the San Juans: A San Juan Day

2011-08-20T15:19:00.000-04:00

Our breakfast, as always at Roche Harbor, was at the Lime Kiln Café at the end of the dock. If you click on the photo, the nearer building says "Roche Harbor Lime & Cement Co. Largest Lime Works West of the Mississippi." We'll see more about the history of this place in a later post.

Melissa greeted us wearing a hat woven from cedar strips, the traditional material and technique used by the original islanders for many articles of clothing.

We headed off towards American Camp, on the far south side of San Juan Island. This is the encampment site for the U.S. troops protecting the American claim to the San Juans, a twin to the English Camp we visited earlier (documented halfway through the previous post).

On the way the bus stopped at the Westside Preserve.

The view included Vancouver Island, just across the strait, and the Olympic Mountains that give the San Juans their drier climate, to the left in this panorama.

We continued south, and bypassed the main Visitor Center for American Camp in favor of driving down to South Beach. The extensive grasslands on the southwestern side of the island show how little rain falls compared to the other sections.

In the above photo we are paused on Pickett's Lane to admire the grasslands. Yes, that Pickett, who in 1859 was a captain in the U.S. Army and landed with the first U.S. troops to contest ownership of the island with the English. Four years later he would lead a division of the Army of Northern Virginia at Gettsyburg, a continent away.

South Beach had the usual signage about park rules and regulations; of particular interest to me was this diagram of the rules of orca-watching. The sign is actually out-of-date, recently the no-go radius was increased from 100 to 200 yards.

The tides and winds deposit a lot of driftwood on South Beach, as this Google Maps image shows.

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Absorbing the landscape, we scanned further and further along the horizon, and then spotted what we eventually decided was Mt. Rainier shimmering through the haze on the horizon.

Candy and Pat also strolled up the beach to admire a bald eagle perched on the driftwood.

On leaving the beach the bus turned southeast. Our goal was to walk down to a lagoon on the northern side of the island, which is not far at all because the island is less than a mile wide at this point:

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However, the bus could not turn around on the narrow road, and we continued down Cattle Point Rd. until we could take advantage of a loop. On the way, we made a fortuitous stop wherein we discovered a fox in the flowers.

Once the bus was pointed in the right direction, those who wanted to stroll down to the lagoon disembarked and followed a nature trail through the woods. This pocket of the island was still wet enough to support banana slugs, including this black beauty.

The lagoon was enjoyable to see, and the leg stretch was welcome, but we didn't discover as much wildlife as we had hoped. It turned out this would be compensated for in the afternoon.

We returned to Roche Harbor, and sailed out for a second and final orca-watching expedition around 2:30pm. There was a lot to see just leaving the harbor area, but first, a picture of our boat for the afternoon.

On the parallel dock, the most important service boat offered by the harbor.

Leaving the harbor, we saw this floatplane come in ...

and there was this sailboat ...

and the seals were hauled out in the sun.

Traveling by water parallel to our morning's track on land, we soon approached the Lime Kiln lighthouse.

The kayakers had likely put into the water just north of the lighthouse, at San Juan County Park.

We began to see various creatures as we continued southbound. Here, a guillemot (they're in the rather large Alcidae family) has popped up to the surface with a beak full of small fish.

For a while there were harbor porpoises also feeding.

Then J pod appeared, and this time they were awake and barreling up from the south. Some of these photos stretched the limits of my point-and-shoot camera, but they should give you an idea of what we were seeing in person and through binoculars.

This orca is falling back into the water after having leapt completely out of the sea.

Several of the orcas were also lobtailing, or slapping their tail fins against the sea, making a loud splash. You can feel the exuberance radiating from them when they do this.

This jumper is perfectly posed, so I offer it despite any fuzziness or graininess in the image.

As the pod swiftly approached and passed us, we had many excellent looks at the orcas. The speed and unpredictability of their actions made it hard to always snap the camera at the right time or at the right orca, but here is a good shot of a youngster swimming with his mother; only her fin is showing.

Here a jumper is landing on her back with a big splash. The rings from the jump out of the water are just behind her.

One orca passed by so close to the stern of our boat that all our jaws were agape.

J pod continued to zoom north, and Melissa laid out a spread for us to nosh on after we calmed down.

We stayed out a while longer, as the laggards of J pod passed by, but this trailing edge was not as acrobatically inclined, and any pictures would just be more fins, and just fins. Then it was time to return to Roche Harbor, grinning.

We had a satisfying group dinner at McMillin's restaurant, overlooking the harbor, despite the glare of the lowering sun on our table. Unfortunately, tomorrow we would leave Roche Harbor, to eventually return to Bellingham, and that meant it was time to pack again.

Sailing the San Juans: Orcas Island Surprise, and an Orca Watching Transfer

2011-08-14T17:00:00.001-04:00

Several of our group started the next day (June 2o) with an early-early morning hike with Melissa to Cascade Falls in Moran State Park. I "slept in," which meant having breakfast at 7:00am. After breakfast we followed Melissa for her big surprise, which was at the Orcas Island Historical Museum.

Outside there was a sculpture, a requirement for any town in the San Juan Islands, or so it seemed.

We arrived well before the regular opening hour of 11 AM, but one of the advantages of traveling in a small group with as enthusiastic a leader as Melissa is her ability to schedule a private showing of a valuable object. We were about to see a 14,000 year old bison skull -- not a replica, but the original -- that had been found on Orcas Island along with 98 bones or bone fragments.

This skull is from the extinct giant bison (Bison antiquus). Some of the 98 bones show marks indicative of butchering with tools, strongly implying human population of the region 800 years before the time of the Clovis culture. We also saw a cast replica of a tibia with probable cutting marks on it.

It is not easy to decipher the history of the islands during this era, with the rising and falling of sea levels with the advance and retreat of the Ice Ages, but this find is a huge clue.

Afterwards Melissa showed us her sea-mammal cord. In the back yard of the museum, she unrolled a long cord which had a tag at different locations marking the size of different sea creatures. Thus, the tag for the harbor porpoise was only a few feet from the beginning of the cord. The tag for the blue whale did not appear until the cord was stretched across the grass, filling the yard on the diagonal. Melissa's tangible demonstration was a warm-up for our combined orca-seeking expedition and transfer to San Juan Island.

While the bus took our gear by ferry, we boarded a whale-watching boat in Deer Harbor. When we first arrived at the harbor, the tide was definitely low.

Some of the boats tied up there did not appear to have moved in recent history.

Our orca-watching boat, the Squito, has both indoor and outdoor seating. (Orcas are not whales, they are the largest member of the dolphin family, so I don't dare call this a whale-watching trip, even if the colloquial name is "killer whale.")

The Squito started motoring down a particular channel, based on the current reports of orca spottings. There are innumerable minor islands in the San Juans, and we passed a group of seals hauled out on a rock in front of one of them.

At one time a wealthy owner of a private island stocked it with exotic animals. Of course, introducing them onto a small island that he later lost interest in did not work out well. Nonetheless a few of the species still survive on the island, which we sailed past.

Then our captain heard a report that orcas had been sighted on the west side of San Juan Island. This was J pod, and the designation requires some explanation. Orcas in the Pacific Northwest have (so far) been divided into "resident" groups, "transient" groups, and "open ocean" groups. The resident groups spend much of the year in a particular area, although that area may be a hundred miles long and wide, and they eat fish, primarily salmon. They are organized into familial groups called pods, and individuals within each pod can be identified through their markings. In the San Juans, there are three resident pods, J, K, and L. This year, 2011, K pod blew through quickly, and L pod had not yet been seen.

In contrast to the resident groups, transient groups pass through unpredictably and eat marine mammals (seals, dolphins, porpoises). Needless to say, the local seals can quickly identify whether a pod is resident or transient and get out of the water fast if it's a transient pod.

We changed direction and about forty minutes later arrived in the area where a portion of J pod was swimming north. Orcas can swim and sleep (resting at least half of their brain) at the same time, which is what J pod was doing when we first saw them. They continue to breathe, of course, but they don't dive or engage in any hunting or exploratory behaviors. Here, they have just passed a group of kayaks. The photo is an accidental panorama; I took a picture of the orcas, at far left, and another of the kayaks, at far right, and they by chance overlapped enough to stitch them together.

If you look above and to the right of the orcas, just at the top of the rock face, you will see a white bench (click on the photo to expand it). The human residents of the islands know where the orcas can frequently be seen, and want to observe in comfort.

While the orcas were "just swimming," I accumulated dozens of photos of backs and fins. For all I knew, this might be the best photo opportunity of the trip, and I had plenty of room on the camera's memory card. To see these creatures at all was a privilege. Here is one of my fin photos.

There are rules and regulations for orca-watching that are designed to prevent human activity from interfering with their lives or driving them away from their home area. Recently the keep-away limit for boats was raised from 100 yards to 200 yards; a boat is to approach no closer than that radius. Also, the boat should not park itself in front of the pod's travel to deliberately intercept them. This is yet another example of the rule to always take binoculars with you.

We were not alone in our quest.

The sleeping behavior does not separate the youngest orcas from their mothers; they will swim close enough to maintain physical contact or swim over the mother's back.

After an hour J pod began to wake up, and we saw spy-hopping behavior. The orcas indulge in human-watching behavior just as we watch them.

Then it was time to sail into Roche Harbor on San Juan Island, be reunited with our luggage, and check into our rooms at the Quarryman Hall. Those rooms were definitely top-notch. Joan and I had one with a balcony overlooking the harbor, which by no means fits into just one photo.

We had a snack at the harbor to supplement the snacks on board the Squito, and then headed off to visit the historic site called English Camp.

Most of our time at English Camp was spent on a short hike to Bell Point. This photo looks back at the historic structures of the main encampment area.

The path was level, with both sun and shade and views out onto Garrison Bay.

By this time we were ready for dinner, and we began driving back to Roche Harbor to pick up the non-hikers in our group. But we had an unscheduled stop on our way. There was a cluster of cars pulled over, and pedestrians were sitting in the middle of a side road, favoring the shade. What was going on? Our bus pulled over and we joined the audience. Creatures -- eagles, ravens, and a fox, at least -- were investigating what must have been a kill in a grassy strip beyond the side of the road, and the humans were investigating the creatures. It seemed a very strong coincidence, and perhaps a human had placed the kill in this conspicuous and convenient location.

The ravens were the most aggressive.

When the ravens departed, a fox visited.

The eagles just watched, intrigued but unwilling, for whatever reason, to challenge. They watched from the sky,

and both juveniles and adults watched from the trees.

But the eagles never, as long as we watched, came down.

We picked up the remainder of our group, and by the time we passed the kill site again, everyone and everything had departed. We drove on to the one real town on the island, Friday Harbor, where the ferries dock and shopping abounds.

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Dinner was welcome, and the flowers outside the restaurant provided my final photo for the day.

Tomorrow would be another busy day on San Juan Island, by land and by sea.

Sailing the San Juans: An Orcas Island Day

2011-08-10T20:02:00.001-04:00

The next morning took us to the Glenwood Springs Hatchery of the Long Live the Kings organization. But first, Mike O'Connell, the manager of the hatchery, had a wonderful slice of Orcas Island history to show us. On the shore, near one of the hatchery facilities, erosion had uncovered ancient tools and an extensive midden. Here, Mike is talking to us about the site.

This photo is an overview of the midden, which is ten or more feet tall and a hundred or more feet long.

The vast majority of the midden is shells of sea creatures, discarded after the tasty parts had been eaten.

The midden also disgorges the occasional stone tool, bone needle, or other artifact. Mike makes a point of checking the shore and the edge of the midden after winter storms.

When the salmon return from the sea, they swim and jump into this holding pool. Here the staff extract the eggs and sperm from the salmon for raising the next generation.

At Glenwood Springs Hatchery the growing salmon (and some trout) inhabit outdoor ponds, where they lead much more natural lives than they would in an indoor holding tank. There are bugs to eat (with food supplements as needed), and predators, such as osprey or raccoons, to avoid. This picture is of one corner of a pond. When the time comes to release the fish, the wheel in the photo is hand-cranked to drain the pond, and the fish soon realize that it is time to go.

Our next stop was the main building of the hatchery. Mike is bringing out a bucket of fish food for an adjacent pond.

The fish are eager for the chow.

There is art everywhere in the Pacific Northwest, and the entryway to the hatchery is not an exception.

The hatchery has an unusual origin documented here. In short, the founder wondered if a brand-new chinook (or king) salmon run could be established by growing and releasing chinook in a watershed that had no salmon. It worked!

The building's interior has a gravel floor, because there's a lot of water splashed around when working with salmon.

Another corner of the building.

Mike explained the several kinds of equipment and the phase of raising salmon that requires each one.

All hatchery salmon are marked by clipping their adipose fin, which allows the fishermen who catch them years later to distinguish between wild and hatchery fish. Most interestingly, 15% to 20% of the salmon are injected with a coded wire tag. This allows the hatchery to determine where its fish are being caught, how much they contribute to sport and commercial fishery, and what the approximate survival rate of their salmon is. The work is all done by hand, so there are seasonal surges of labor at the hatchery followed by quieter times.

From the hatchery we drove over to Moran State Park.

We had a short break at a camping and picnic area. One of the first things we saw was a "tree cookie," a cross-section of a tree that was very old when it died.

The three markers on the tree cookie show its size when the Pilgrims landed at Plymouth Rock (1620), when George Washington was born (1732), and when Moran State Park was dedicated (1921).

Then we drove to the trailhead to see a living old-growth tree, which Melissa called "Big Bertha." This photo is looking back at a bridge on the road after we've started our gentle downhill walk to Big Bertha.

We were not alone on the trail.

It's impossible to fit all of Big Bertha into one photo.

To visualize Bertha's girth, Melissa had us form a human chain, reaching out at arm's length to the next person, encircling Big Bertha. Then we recreated the chain in open air to realize just how big she was. Being a part of the chain, I have no photo of it, but here Candy serves as a smiling model to provide scale.

After leaving Big Bertha, we returned to the road and then to the picnic ground for lunch. At the end of our repast, preparing to board the bus, we saw a young American Dipper. This is the bird that forages by walking underwater, snatching the small creatures that live on the stream bottom. This one was too young to be scared of us, as long as we didn't get too close. It is plump, so it may have left the nest only recently.

Then those who were interested were driven to the trailhead for a hike on the west bank of Mountain Lake. The trail was broad and easy to follow. We were wide-eyed at these emerging saprophytic plants, commonly called "candy stripe" or "candy stick."

Saprophytic plants have no chlorophyll, so they cannot photosynthesize; their food is decaying organic matter in the soil. These candy sticks are further categorized as mycotrophic, meaning that they extract their nutrients through a symbiotic relationship with fungi in the soil.

In places the trail was very close to the lake.

Mountain Lake is long and narrow; this is a view from near the northern end.

Our turnaround point was a grove of cedars just beyond the tip of the lake. The trail went on ...

We paused and sat there for a few minutes, absorbing the sights and smells.

Now, in retrospect, I wish I had taken several side-by-side vertical/portrait photos, so that I could stitch them into a forest panorama.

Our return walk and the evening's dinner completed an excellent day. Melissa promised us a surprise for tomorrow morning, creating some suspense.