Black Bear, a photo by wild trees on Flickr.
I've met a lot of bears. My first bear I met on the North Fork of the Skokomish, a scared kid of nineteen on his first backpack -- and first solo backpack at that. Over the years I've met bears young and old; scared, curious and indifferent; on trails, up trees, on snow and in rivers. I treasure every experience, every encounter. I've followed bear tracks through snow-covered cirque after cirque, finding the trail by trusting Ursus americanus to lead the way.
This bear I met in the South Fork drainage of Kimta Creek. An amazing place, wild with elk, with berries, steep and open in places, covered in ancient Tsuga mertensiana in others. Walking along, thinking, feeling, smelling the wild Olympic air, and suddenly this guy, appearing out of the bushes. I had time for a quick photo, no adjustments, and I think of all my bear photographs this one captures the essence of a wild bear the best. I'm grateful to have experienced that moment, to have met this fellow and to have stood in his presence.
Mist on the Old-Growth, a photo by wild trees on Flickr.
Alta Creek. You've probably never heard of it. A wild stream that flows through deep, dark forest from tree covered peaks to the flat bottoms of the Queets. There's something very special about this place: it's in the fog capital of the Olympics. Does that mean it's in the fog capital of the West? Surely the Olympic Peninsula is a place where fog finds its' ultimate expression, where the mists of summer reach a profound beauty and the mists of winter blot out the sun.
This photo was taken from near the top of Kimta peak. The fog streaming in from the coast, the sun setting over the rising bank. I sat and watched this happen with awe, with wonder in my soul. I still feel the emotion of that day, being moved by the beauty of the light, the droplets of water vapor streaming through the air and refracting the light. It was a privilege to see, to be in that place at that moment... this photograph brings me back, reminds me of the rough bark of Tsuga mertensiana, the sparkling green of newly damped needles waving goodbye to the long summer day.
Chiricahua Muse, a photo by wild trees on Flickr.
Juniper. One of my favorite types of trees, and this particular tree, one of my favorite individuals. Juniper, wonder tree of the west, 'useless' for timber, these beauties cut for fence posts and rails and little else. This particular tree grows within Chiricahua National Monument, on a trail called the Inspiration Point trail (how many trails are there with that name in National Parks?). Looking out from the rhyolite flow that terminates in balanced rocks and cliffs, you see a biological wonderland, full of geological oddities, endemic species and, stopping to listen, one of the most biologically rich bird populations in the United States. Thankfully this place is not a National Park, or it would be better known...
Unusual High Tide, Rialto Beach, a photo by wild trees on Flickr.
Big Waves at the Coast. This photo is from back in 2009, during summer, when a freak wave event created an unusual -- and unexpected -- high tide. Now, during the winter of 2012, big tides at the coast combined with a big west swell and erosion of the south jetty at La Push may combine to flood the little coastal town. It's because of times like this (and the tsunami risk) that a new town will be built on the uplands above Second Beach, formerly part of Olympic National Park. Let's all pause and think about the good folk of La Push and hope that the ocean with which they are so integrally connected doesn't do too much damage to their homes and livelihoods.
Hills to the Sea, a photo by wild trees on Flickr.
A beautiful end of summer sunset. Doesn't that sound perfect just about now, in the depths of the rainy season? These beautiful hills run from the Alta Creek to Sam's River Drainages in the SW Olympics. In between lies the wild Tschletshy Creek valley, wild and remote, full of elk and bear and other creatures. This photo seemed a fitting antidote to the dark and drear of winter, a reminder that these rains bring life, that moss dripping with rain and giant trees growing by remote canyons exist because of these storms. So, summer, I look forward to meeting you again. Hopefully not too long from now.
Magnificent, a photo by wild trees on Flickr.
Fire Giant. No, we're not talking about some creature to defeat in World of Warcraft. Rather, we're talking about the dominant tree found in so many ancient forests in the Pacific Northwest, Pseudotsuga menziesii. Despite its total inability to grow in shade, many of our most remarkable forests feature even-aged stands of huge fir. It seems hard to imagine the magnitude of the fires that must have swept across our usually wet coastal plains and mountains, blackening nearly everything in sight and setting the stage for large forests of this sun tolerant species. Imagine the newly scarred landscape, brightening with fireweed (Epilobium angustifolium), buzzing with bees, and soon covered by young fir, the seeds growing in beds as if specifically prepared for this august species.
In honor of the 2012, I post this photo of an enormous Douglas Fir, found in the Big Creek drainage in the Quinault Watershed. I walked in this forest last summer on a peaceful day, awed by the beauty of many trees, brethren, standing together and sharing the light in a most harmonious way. Seems so fitting for the first post of 2012, a year I hope is marked by peace, by cooperation, and kindness. Happy New Year, all!
