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.

Wild Black Bear

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. 

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.

The Colonizer

Alnus Rubra, a photo by i like bees on Flickr.
The ubiquitous Red Alder.  Colonizer of stream banks, fixer of nitrogen (with a little help from Frankia alni) and favorite of Olympic Peninsula beavers.  Seldom do we get to see the rootstock of this plant so clearly, ripped from the banks of some stream or river, cleansed and polished by the waves and rocks of the ocean, and deposited here, almost as if dissected, upon the western shore of the continent.

I love the colors here:  reddish and glowing, the color of the wood suggesting the name... and yet this plant is named not for the hue of the wood, but rather the beautiful red cast of the branch tips from a distance when they bear their winter catkins.  Alder attains sizes that are not great, and lives a life short by contrast with most of our other trees.  Yet, like all the other components of our native ecosystem, this tree plays a key (and often beautiful) place in the wild.

Red Alder color cast:  Skokomish Valley Red Alder

Red Alder, covered in ice:  Quinault Valley Icy Alder

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