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.