The Measure of a Mountain

Mount Rainier is the largest and most dangerous volcano in the United States of America. The summit reaches 14,410 feet above sea level, so high and superimposing that it creates its own weather. When our Baha'i friends Shaun and Leila, new to Seattle, asked to join us on one of our excursions here George and I jumped at the chance to show them the remarkable beauty of Mt. Rainier.
We met at the visitor center at Sunrise at 10:30, and spent the next 6 hours hiking along the Berkeley Park trail, one of the more strenuous hikes offered at Sunrise. (At 6,400 feet above sea level Sunrise is the highest point in the park that you can reach by vehicle.) We completed a 8 mile hike, including an extension through adjacent snow fields and meadows, along the Sourdough Ridge and the Northern Loop.

There is a 1200 foot elevation gain with the hike, which alternated with moderate descents into the Berkley meadows. The Berkley meadows are astoundingly beautiful this time of year - lupine, potentilla, pasque flower, Indian paintbrush, purple aster, penstemin, phlox, and an abundance of low-lying shrubs.

We walked slowly, engaging in conversation along the way. This hike which was 6 hours, seemed like 3, because the conversation was so rich. We enjoyed getting to know our new friends, who have recently moved here from Haifa, Israel. Leila and I got to know each other from blogging. While on the trail, I told her of my recent library acquisitions, a book about Georg Steller and Vitis Bering up in Alaska, "Steller's Island" by Dean Littlepage, and another "The Measure of a Mountain - Beauty and Terror on Mount Rainier" by Bruce Barcott. The latter has been a delightful acquaintanceship with the nuiances of the mountain, the landscape and its visitors.

"...the Rainier he finds is a marvelous complex of bearded hemlocks and old-growth firs, ethereal formations of rock and snow, thinning air, and fractured glaciers steadily grinding the mountain down." "Its snowfields bristle with bug life, and its marmots gnaw on rocks to keep their teeth from turning into tusks. Rainier rumbles with seismic twitches and jerks - 130 earthquakes annually -- and threatens to heave an unstoppable wall of mud down its slopes."

Barcott details the dormant nature of Mt. Rainier, saying "The more scientists learn about Mount Rainier, the more nervous they become, because in the last few years they've discovered that the danger doesn't lie, as they thought earlier, in a volcanic eruption. What's got the geologists spooked is the fact that the mountain could collapse at any minute." It has something to do with the movement of the Juan de Fuca and Pacific plates. We had such a good time, that I'll admit that we spent very little time considering this possibility!

This is one of the last images I took of the mountain as we drove down. The heavy fog was rolling in gentle currants, blanketing the mountain in moisture. We said our goodbye's to Leila and Shaun, then spent two more hours exploring the area around Tipsoo Lake, hiking up to another little lake, where we sat on a huge boulder together, reminiscing about the beauty of the day.

Snow Lake Trail - Mt. Rainier

Ah, the mountain- eers, ready to take on the mountain! Lunches packed, water bottles at the ready, walking sticks honed, and spirits fueled with anticipation! Regardless of intermittent rain and strong weather advisories against walking along water drainages and mountain gullies, we headed up the Snow Lake Trail, one of the more strenuous climbs for ole' George and myself. The younger crowd, Taraz and Megan and their friend Mahta, seemed to just flit and flutter upwards without so much as a huff or puff, or a care in the world!
We meandered through the most sublime meadows, upwards through the forest understory until we reached Snow Lake.
This hike takes some careful maneuvering, especially if the logjams across creeks are slippery from the rain - and rain was an intermittent companion on this hike.

We reached our final destination after several hours of rigorous hiking.

This time of year, thousands visit the Mt. Rainier National Park. Many have come to see the flood damage from the Great Flood of November 2006, when 18 inches of rain fell in 36 hours. The Nisqually road washed out for 200 yards, requiring extensive repairs. Log jams are everywhere, also washouts, rerouted creeks, and landslides. What was once Sunshine Campground - my favorite - is now a riverbed, with huge boulders and rocks where picnic tables once were. Embankments dropped away at milepost 9, leaving a sheer drop off at the road's edge. Such were the sights last November, and the Park was closed to traffic.

Since then, work crews have rerouted water, rebuilt roads, repaired power-lines and sewers. When we drove through, it seemed as mild and gorgeous as ever, with wildflowers along the sides of the road and in the alpine valleys. Such contrasts of weather, such sudden changes. Then the sunshine comes out, as if nothing had happened.

The National Park Service writes: "Mt. Rainier is a restless mountain. The roads bridges, trails and campgrounds that we build are secondary to the elemental forces that created - and continue to transform - this landscape that we love. Our great works of human enterprise will fade away with time. The mountain will endure."

A Few More Parting Shots

We drove through Mt. Rainier National Park, just hours before sunset. A gentle mist was moving through the trees.

While most hikers were returning down this mountain, George, Dick, Taraz and I headed upwards, completing a circle.

Alpine ground cover - the miniature lily is one of the first to sprout after the snow thaws.

All In The Family - Remembering Good Times

Up Skamokawa Creek

George's brother Dick is finishing up his last canoe paddle today, before he flies back home to California. During the past six days we've explored estuaries on Puget Sound, creeks down in Oregon, inlets and snug harbors - with all kinds of weather and water. Temperatures were close to 98 degrees with our first paddle on Dyes Inlet, yet our excursion up to Mount Rainier required sweaters and jackets. We had long, luxurious paddles and one so abbreviated, due to roiling currents, that we had to drag the canoe along the shoreline with a long nylon rope. In any case, all of the paddle routes gave us a chance to explore and appreciate water.

We stayed at the Twin Gables Bed and Breakfast in Skamokawa, Washington, which is in a most delightful little town. A church/museum, a cafe/post office, a kayaking center/community hall, and an elder hostel comprise the four civic buildings of the town - in other words, it is a very tiny town: One main street a block long, and a huddle of little homes nestled on Skamokawa Creek.
It was not hard to find Twin Gables - it was the largest home on the creek, not far from the winding road through the community. We parked our van, walked up to the front porch, and found the front door wide open. Nobody was home, but a ceiling fan was busy sending the air into currents along the long open parlor. We called Kathleen Morgain, the owner, and within moments I saw her walk over a little bridge on the creek and over to her home. In addition to running her bed and breakfast, she is the Wahkiakum County Fair Manager, organizing all of the events, projects, and booths of the fair in August. In spite of this busy time, she opened her home to us, her first guests.
She said that Twin Gables is still 'a work in progress', that it will officially open in about a year.
She showed us our rooms, and encouraged us to make ourselves at home.
While Dick and George unloaded our canoe, I walked around the main parlor/living room, appreciating all the little touches Kathleen had made to make her home welcoming - the collections of books, music, family photographs, embroidered curtains, glassware, and delicate dishes nesting in the cabinets.
This is Kathleen in her kitchen, preparing breakfast for us: Smoked salmon omelets, fried potatoes and bacon, toast with home-made jam, a fresh fruit compote of cherries, oranges, apples, and kiwi...and generous cups of coffee.
I loved the kitchen - clean, practical and unpretentious. Everything had a purpose, a usefulness.
After we settled in, we took a canoe paddle up Skamokawa Creek, putting in at the dock on the property. Then, the guys took another paddle around an island, down toward the Columbia River.
This is the Skamokawa Community Center - where you can get a meal with your right foot, turn, and get your mail with the left foot. Out back are kayaks for excursions out on the water, in every direction, up a creek, around an island or out to the Columbia River.
In the evening we were invited to attend a concert sponsored by the Elder Hostel. Andrew and Jeffrey performed music that was played during the time of the Lewis and Clark Expedition - classical works by Hayden, Bach and Correlli. This was the music played on the violin by Thomas Jefferson. Andrew and jeffrey also performed dance songs, boat songs, the popular jigs of the day. The music was exceptionally good, with Andrew giving a presentation on the history of the music and of that era. (The next day we toured Fort Clatsop, where the Lewis and Clark expedition wintered over.)
This is the porch leading out of the little community center. The sun was just beginning to set over the water. As the music was playing, I walked out onto the porch, and took this last parting shot of a most delightful rural community.

Camping On The Copalis River

This old doornob on one of the cabins on Driftwood Acres shows a map, with dramatic continental shifts. Australia has bumped into Florida, and Mexico is drifting northward into the Gulf. It is the kind of whimsy I was looking for, after talking with the owner of the camping/RV resort where we spent our weekend. As we registered for our campsite, he talked about the subduction zone, and a 'ghost forest' nearby that has drastically dropped due to the continents pushing up against each other.

Steve Ludwig and his wife Annie own this old 1920's style property, which is on the Copalis River, just a hop, skip, and a jump from the Pacific Ocean. I spent about a half-hour listening to Steve describe the history of the area, his dedication to protecting the Griffith Priday Wildlife Sanctuary bordering his property, and the extensive efforts it takes to care for his own old-growth forest.

Fortunately, the original character of the original guest cabins and meeting house still exist, with the textures and colors that evolve over time, with weather, sea-salt, and rain. This is a collection of old buoys, nestled in a trough. As I walked around the property, I noticed little bird-houses built from shells, wood-carvings along a forest trail, and an ancient-looking wind-chime that signals storms as they roll in.

This is the old-growth forest that is maintained by Steve. He's cleared a walking trail, layered the path with wood-chips and mulch, and placed a little family of gnomes throughout. Look up, and some are hanging from guide-ropes, climbing up into 500 year old Sitka Spruce trees.

I walked along this road, which took us to our campsite, the one at the farthest end of the park, the one that has the most dramatic view of the coastline.

Steve said that 30 mile an hour winds haunt this coastline much of the time, and that we were fortunate to secure the site on a day without wind. We pitched our tent on the very edge of a bluff overlooking a peninsula, along the edge of the forest. Getting the bedding right is a requisite of mine, because of the chronic pain in my shoulders and neck - 4 inch foam, then 5 thick comforters. That provides enough depth to lay on, so I'm comfortable. The big down comforter is used as a covering - in all weather. On the coast, temps are still in the 50's at night. This is my way of staying warm - however, our bedding takes up a good 1/3 of the room when packed in our van.

This campground is very well-tended, very clean. Every fire-pit has a 3-gallon container and a stir-stick for putting out campfires. And, careful instructions are given out at registration for putting out the campfire - pour the water, stir the ashes, pour the water, stir the ashes, pour the water, stir the ashes! And, due to the precautions necessary to protect the forest, campfires are not allowed from 12:00 noon until 6:00 p.m. The owners do a final check of the property at night, to make sure that all campfires are out - unbelievably, some campers turn in for the night, still leaving coals burning. Should the wind suddenly come up, this could be dangerous.

It was the 80-degree weather in the Seattle/Tacoma area that motivated us to spend our weekend on the coast, near Ocean Shores, where a temperature inversion creates a 10 - 20 degree difference in temperature. While sidewalks shimmered in the heat in Tacoma, a cool mist shrouded the massive cliffs along the coast. We took a hike along the Copalis River adjacent to the camp. Catch the tides right, and you can canoe across the river, bushwhack across a narrow peninsula, cross a maze of rippled dunes, and greet the dramatic edge of the continent. There you'll explore one of the most secluded beaches along the coastline. We sat here, with afternoon coffee, after our hike, then took the canoe and paddled up the Copalis River about 5:00, when the tides were to our advantage. Without careful attention to tides, the paddling can be unpleasant and rigorous. We went in with the tide, and out with the ebb-tide.

When we got back to camp, I cooked some Spanish rice, warmed up some barbeque chicken, served that with a salad, yogurt and blueberries. I served the same salad for lunchtime, pictured here - George requires mostly fruits and vegetables because of his diabetes.

The next morning we lingered over breakfast, shown here: Fried eggs, split-saussage on a warm English muffin layered with stir-fry vegetables - shredded broccoli, carrots, cabbage, and onion. We struck camp, then took a long walk along the ocean.

While George packed up our van, I made sandwiches - cheese with a sprinkling of shredded broccoli mix, mustard and relish. We were ravenous after a long walk along the ocean. I was so glad everything was prepared in advance! After lunch we canoed some exquisite wetlands, explored the surrounding state parks, and drove through Ocean Shores, down to Ocean City. There, we saw masses of tourists riding dune-buggies, flying kites along the ocean, and shopping. Espresso shops had cars lined up, both sides. The press of humanity was everywhere. I couldn't have been more grateful, that we had found a quieter, more secluded place to spend our weekend, away from the crowds.

I have to include this additional image of Steve Ludwig, in his element at Driftwood Acres. I thought how he likes to pull apples from his own tree, enough for a pie. He's so eager to get more, that he's brought in some flowering crab apples, with the hope of some cross-pollination. He says a great day is "when I can sit back and enjoy watching the bees visit the apple tree." That, and a glass of wine in his hand and Barry White playing softly in the background.

Mount St. Helens Volcanic Monument

We spent the 4th of July away from the sounds of fireworks, visiting a blast-area that flattened 230 square miles of forest. On May 18, 1980 at 8:32 a.m., Mount St. Helens erupted, releasing a 5.1 magnitude earthquake, triggering a massive explosion. It sent 1,300 vertical feet of mountaintop rocketing outward to the north, spewing ash upward 60,000 feet into the sky. The super-heated winds reached 670 miles an hour and reached temperatures of 800 degrees Fahrenheit. The largest landslide in recorded history swept through the Toutle River Valley and created Coldwater Lake when the blast-zone carved a new channel in the river.
We spent the day visiting every visitor center - there are four, each with different views of Mount St. Helens, each inching closer and closer to the barren face of the volcano. It was not the most comfortable place, in spite of gentle winds, a warm sunny day and wildflowers skirting the roadsides.
As we explored, it was so evident that a violent story had taken place, with ash and shattered timber scattering the mountainsides. The lava dome on the crater floor has grown steadily since 1980, adding 88 million cubic yards of material and 1,363 feet in height. We noticed that vapors were rising from a vent at the top, so this is still a very active volcano.
Exhibits, interpretive trails, and the visitor centers offer a day's worth of activities. We stopped briefly to watch Lloyd Gladson lead his team creating fantastic glass art from the volcanic ash. This is the world's only ash glass production art studio in action.
This is Coldwater Lake, where we spent the afternoon canoeing. We put the canoe in at the boat ramp, and found, much to our surprise that we were sharing the lake with only one other canoe party. That meant for some quiet time on the water, which was a delight.

Over the years, the mountainsides have returned to normalcy, with abundant evergreens and deciduous trees covering the landscape. Shattered, burned trees were pulled out, and new ones planted. Fish once again fill the waterways, and elk and deer have returned to the surrounding hills. Twenty-seven years after the eruption, everything looks fresh and new. Thoughtful planning and the cooperative efforts of the USDA, Forest Service, Weyerhaeuser and private organizations have ensured that the history of the eruption will be accessible as a living laboratory for educators and scientists.