Tsuga Mertensiana

Tsuga Mertensiana, a photo by wild trees on Flickr.
There is something very special about Tsuga mertensiana (mountain hemlock).  Of course, it's probably fare to say that I would say there is something special about nearly every tree, but as a species, Tsuga m. is especially striking.  They grow in some of most weather exposed places, and yet attain relatively large sizes given how slowly they grow.  Standing as they often do on cliffs and deep ravines, they are ravaged by wind, buried in snow and brushed by avalanche.  To me, this gives them each a different personality, there's something different about each one you meet.  This particular fellow is just protected from the windward side of this ridge, but the broken top is evidence of the power of the winter wind.  I look forward to visiting here again soon, in late summer when the berries are ripe and evidence of the many feet of snow that surely cover this slope has melted.

Where Sky and Trees Meet

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 Juniper

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...

Hills to the Sea

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.

Pseudotsuga menziesii (Fire Giant)

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!

An Amazing Jumble

An Amazing Jumble, a photo by i like bees on Flickr.

The mouth of the Queets.  Is it the shortest wildest river in Washington?  Is it the most remarkable rainforest river of all?  Irrespective of the answer, it is certainly remarkable.  By some fluke of historic land preservation, the wild banks of the Queets were nearly protected from the incursion of the big saws almost to the mouth.  It's not to say that the watershed wasn't cut-over:  quite the contrary, the Queets was treated poorly, just like them all.  But along the banks?  Big Spruce reach nearly to the mouth.

And north of where this short but sacred river reaches the Pacific, the largest pile of driftwood and logs I know of sits, slowly expanding, huge trees joining the jumble and ever so slowly building a steep, cobble beach.  Here big rocks are piled on old logs (with the odd bit of marine detritus, and old boat or two, and even a few growing trees here and there), balanced after each big storm or high tide, pushed up from the ocean and mixed with the discharge of every new flood.  The Queets is a special river, from high subalpine meadows, through the channels watched by the Valhallas, to deep rainforest glades with towering Spruce and Fir, to the log choked junction with the wild eastern shore of the ocean.  Oh Queets, you may be short, but you are the essence of wild!

This link to the Queets streamflow gauge is fun to watch when a big Pacific storm blows in:
http://water.weather.gov/ahps2/hydrograph.php?wfo=sew&gage=quew1&view=1,1,1,1,1,1,1,1 

The Wild SF of the Hoh

South Fork of the Hoh, a photo by i like bees on Flickr.

You turn off Highway 101 and head to the Hoh. But not that Hoh. Instead, you drive along a very quiet paved road, and see no tourists. No signs for the rainforest, no rainforest outfitters.  Definitely no coffee. Instead, endless miles of very, very young trees.  If you look as you drive, you can see the giant old stumps of an ancient forest.  You follow poor signage and try not to end up on some random logging road, and the closer you get, the narrower the road is, the stranger the place feels... but eventually, you cross a beautiful river, water flowing across carved sandstone.

Continuing on, the road turns, and up, up you go, to a level bench, recently logged off.  You wonder:  surely, this must be the road, but this is so confusing -- no signs!  A few more turns, more uncertainty -- perhaps you get out your map.  But, yes, finally, the road ends, you park, get out of your car, and there is the trusty trailhead sign, confirming that you have indeed arrived at a destination few seek.  A few miles of trail lead to a place truly remote: the SF of the Hoh. Here bear walk in winter, giant spruce trees form columns along the trail, and you are in a place that is truly wild.

The Spiral Giant

Giant Old Snag, a photo by i like bees on Flickr.

I recently was told by someone, describing how another person had described me, that I simply wanted to be a tree. I suppose on some level this is true. I love the bravery of trees, the courage to pick a place to be, to grow, to put down roots and to be part of a community, irrespective of what comes. This to me is one of the great things about forests, and one of the best qualities of people: resilience.

Beyond that, there is a majestic beauty to trees, especially to old and ancient ones, that speaks to me on a profound level. Recently I had the fortune to find one of those wild, rare places full of ancient cedars, unexpected, a secret hidden off of a logging road and entirely unexpected. I know it is a place that I will return to again and again, and I seek to share a portion of it with you through this post, and through this photo. Hard to take photos of trees in the first place and capture the size, the aspect, the context, harder still in rain and with poor light. But this photo perhaps gives a sense...