and the process of peeling off the layers of extravagant growth –
bit by bit,
leaf by leaf,
begins anew.
1. Wildflower seeds are released into the wind.
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2. A Bracken fern frond huddles in the embrace of a tree skeleton.
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3. Just one boat remains in the bay.
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4. Rain studs fallen leaves with galaxies of little lenses that magnify surface detail and reflect the sky above.
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5. Up in the mountains rocks and plants weave subtle autumnal tapestries.
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6. Face a different direction and the colors change. Soon it will all be under snow.
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7. Harsh mountain weather carves wood and rock into singular forms.
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8. A poisonous but beautiful Amanita mushroom emerges from mountain heather at 5600 feet (1707m).
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9. Orange safety fencing nabs errant leaves by the roadside.
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10. This human blends in with the mellow colors on the street.
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11. The final sunset of September glows gently over the bay .
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12. Empty flower pots gather Katsura leaves at a public garden, creating an unintentionally picturesque scene.
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13. Lace lichen sparkles like tinsel in the angled autumn light.
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14. Rose hips are ripening.
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15. Runners ignore the rain on a chilly October afternoon.
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Six of these photographs were made using a vintage Takumar lens with an adapter (#1,3,4,11,13,14,15). This lens is about 50 years old. It’s not as sharp as lenses made today and it has its own look – a little warmer and perhaps less clinical than current lenses. It’s harder to use because aperture and focus distance have to be set manually. The lens can flare and in high contrast situations it may produce purple or green fringing. In spite of these eccentricities there’s always the possibility for interesting surprises with this old lens, like the moody look of the first photograph. My version of the lens has a slight gold tint, which in my mind makes it particularly well suited for fall. The Takumar tends to sit in a cabinet for months at a time, then I take it out and get excited about it, shooting for a while until I tire of the limitations and go back to newer lenses that are more predictable.
A few of these photos were made with an older Android phone (#9,10,12) and for the others I used Olympus lenses. Whatever you use to make photographs and express your connection to the world around you, I hope you are enjoying your tools.
In 1977 a Fidalgo Island resident named Kathleen Sharpe deeded a choice parcel of land to the county, to be used as a park in memory of her husband and his father. Irish-born Thomas Sharpe had arrived on the island about a hundred years earlier, establishing a farm and orchard. The 1870’s may not sound like long ago in historical terms, but Sharpe was one of the early permanent white settlers on Fidalgo Island. He and his family must have relished the peaceful views from their homestead.
1. Most of the boats are motorized now but otherwise, this view hasn’t changed much.
2. A park trail bends around two old Douglas firs. Like most of the island, this area was logged, but trees grow fast here and the park has some sizable Douglas fir trees.
3. After a winter storm the tip of a Madrone branch rests on a bed of moss and lichens.
4. Reindeer lichen, moss, bits of Madrone bark and leaves, and a myriad of other fragments of life litter the ground on a mid-winter day.
5. The sky glows over Rosario Strait and the San Juan Islands.
Sharpe Park doesn’t impress with size but its beauty is undeniable. Set along rugged cliffs at the island’s western edge with spectacular views of the Olympic Mountains and San Juan Islands, this is the kind of place that is normally dotted with private homes. Instead, it’s a county park where anyone can enjoy the views free of charge. The park maintains a low profile; only a discrete sign at a small parking lot on a quiet road identifies it. Additional land was added to the park in 2003, thanks to the efforts of the San Juan Preservation Trust and funds from private, state and county sources. That cooperation dedicated to a mutually valued goal produced a gem of a park.
6. Late September afternoon sunlight threads its way through the lush forest.
7. Across from the wetland the forest is a mad tangle of trees, bushes, ferns, and fallen logs.
8. The delicate look of unfurling of Bracken ferns (Pteridium aquilinum) belies their tenacious grip on the landscape. Bracken colonizes drier places that most ferns don’t tolerate.
9. Licorice fern (Polypodium glycyrrhiza) has a limited range and gentler habits than Bracken fern. The rows of little bumps are the spore cases on the underside of the fronds, which are fresh and green even in winter, when this photo was taken. The plant can go dormant during our dry summer, springing back to life with autumn rains.
10. It looks like Pileated woodpeckers went to town on this old stump.
We used to drive up to Fidalgo Island to enjoy the scenery when we lived near Seattle. It was on one of those trips in the fall of 2017 that we discovered Sharpe Park. We followed winding, root-studded trails past a wetland and drifted through a moist, evergreen forest before arriving at Sare’s Head, the high bluff overlooking Rosario Strait. The expansive view took our breath away. Standing on that bluff with the silver water spread out far below, your mind-chatter fades away as everything quiets.
Since moving to Fidalgo Island, this park has become one of my favorite places to wander and relax. The trail system has easy, moderate and challenging sections as it follows the twists and turns of the shoreline. There’s a simple bench on the bluff and another on a second bluff to the east, making perfect spots for picnics. Walking through the peaceful forest, catching those first glints of blue through the trees and emerging on a bluff overlooking the water 400 feet below is always a treat.
11. A trail in January. The bent tree is a Madrone.
12. Gazing up into the heart of a tall Madrone tree. Believe it or not, this was in February.
13. In May a lovely Fawn lily (Erythronium oregonum) nods its graceful head beside the trail.
14. This little bug looks quite alert as he poses on my leg.
15. I read somewhere that Mr. Sharpe had an orchard – could this be a remnant, or is it the native Pacific crab apple?
16. A fire-damaged tree frames the view of sun-drenched water and the jagged blue line of the high Olympic Mountains far across the Strait of Juan de Fuca.
The seasons roll forward revealing a parade of discoveries: dried cattails reflected in the dark waters of winter, a tiny native orchid penetrating the leaf litter in July, stripes of fire damage in the bark of a Madrone tree, and a suite of pretty Camas flowers lighting up the ground in a clearing. In March a friend and I watched a Bald eagle attempt to land on a branch that was too small. It tipped over and tried to right itself by spreading its wings. It was unsuccessful. We couldn’t help laughing as the eagle went to find a better lookout. There are supposed to be Harbor porpoises off Sares Head but I haven’t seen them there. That’s reason enough to keep coming back.
17. Dried cattails at the edge of the pond. Before they get this dry the leaves can be woven into mats or hats; the Salish people may have used cattails from this marsh hundreds of years ago.
18. Fire happens, as it did some years ago around this Madrone tree, which didn’t survive. Douglas firs have thicker bark and often do survive fires.
19. Here are the echoes of old Douglas firs that grew here before the fire. They still reach for the sky.
20. These trees (probably Douglas fir and Sitka spruce) wear coats of yellow lichen.
21. Cooley’s hedge-nettle (Stachys cooleyae), a tiny Rein orchid (perhaps Platanthera transversa) and Common camas (Camassia quamash) were summer and spring finds at Sharpe Park this year. Camas grows from a small bulb that was an important food source for indigenous people in the Pacific northwest.
22. Raindrops will cling to these mushrooms for hours in the moist climate at Sharpe Park.
23. A well-defined fog bank is an ethereal presence over Rosario Bay. To watch fog morph and fade and thicken again is to know time in your bones.
Light, water and movement: taken together they’re a recipe for enchantment. When light dances on water, patterns emerge as endless revelations. When the air pushes water this way and that or blows clouds across the sun, the patterns break up and reform in fleeting frames. Photographing these mesmerizing permutations of light and water, I never know what will happen, and that, of course, is a big part of the draw.
1.
During a recent road trip we stopped for provisions at the North Coast Coop in Arcata, California and got into a conversation with the check-out person. The tall, wiry man was friendly and eager to talk as he rang up our purchases. I asked about his favorite hikes in the area and without hesitation, he began proclaiming the virtues of a place I hadn’t heard of. “Go to Headwaters Forest Reserve” he said. “They built a new trail, and it’s my favorite place for walking!”
The next day we drove out to the trailhead, parked, and set out on a mostly level trail that follows the South Fork Elk River through a picturesque forest. We got caught in rain showers a few times, but there was ample shelter under the thick canopy of tall, moss-laden trees. With rain and sunshine alternating, everything sparkled. On the trail, nursery logs supported mature trees, ferns arced over the forest floor, and a big, black beetle stopped us in our tracks. It was a glorious walk. Then I saw the colorful reflections on the gently rippling river and I was spellbound.
2. 3.4.5. 6. 7.
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I have come to expect hypnotic reflections at certain spots on the lakes closer to home and the play of light on water never gets old. Whether air currents ripple the water or allow for relative stillness, the mirrored reality is captivating and mysterious. Here’s a group of photographs of reflections in lakes, streams and ponds near home.
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10.
11.
12.
13.
14.
15.
16.
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These intimate immersions into transitory states of nature seem more vital than ever to our sanity in the face of the onslaught of bad news that presses against us every day. I don’t take the grace of being alive in such beautiful places lightly. I wouldn’t be there and the images would not have been made if activists and preservationists didn’t fight to preserve the land and waters where I walk.
In northern California, Headwaters Forest Reserve protects precious old-growth forest and watersheds that were almost lost to logging. This unique ecosystem was being actively clear-cut as recently as the 1980’s, but Earth First! stepped in and raised hell. There were boycotts, tree-sits, protests, and counter-demonstrations by truckers and loggers. During this period the Northern Spotted Owl and Marbled Murrelet were listed as threatened, enhancing the public’s understanding of the need to preserve this critical habitat for them.
The 1990’s was a challenging time for loggers, mill workers and their families, as well as for activists, legislators and others, as the fight to save previously unlogged forests heated up. Gray areas – the complexities of the situation as a whole – got lost in black and white thinking as the opposing sides became polarized. But after years of struggle the 7500-acre Headwaters reserve was transferred from private ownership to the public in 1999. The region may feel calmer now but in fact, nearby forests on the Lost Coast are threatened today. Activists continue to mobilize.
To see the original old-growth trees at Headwaters Forest Reserve you have to hike 10.5-miles (about 17km) round-trip or make a request in advance for a guided five-mile hike. On this trip we hiked shorter trails that don’t penetrate the ancient old-growth forest, but we enjoyed the trails we took immensely. We hope to do the guided hike next time. Photos #1 – #7 and #17 and #16 – #19 in my previous post began life at Headwaters.
Photos #8 – 13 and #16 were made within Anacortes Community Forest Lands (ACFL). In the late 1980’s residents came together to protect land on Fidalgo Island that was being logged for revenue by the city of Anacortes. The forest was disappearing and the city wasn’t making much from logging it, so concerned citizens rallied together, educated key people and involved local teachers and children in the cause. Within a few years the logging was stopped and managing the forest lands for recreation instead of profit became a city budget item.
Photos #13 and #14 were made at local gardens. Again, people worked together to create these gardens for recreation and education. Bonhoeffer Gardens in Stanwood, Washington, preserves native plants for the enjoyment and edification of the public. The Discovery Garden in Mount Vernon, Washington, was created by a Washington State University Master Gardener class to educate and inspire the public. It features a mix of native and non-native species laid out in more than twenty separate demonstration gardens linked by paths and plantings. The Discovery Garden and Bonhoeffer Gardens each have water features – what is a garden without water? When the light is right, the reflections never disappoint.
It’s a little town in northern California – more precisely, in Humboldt County, home of mammoth redwood trees, counter-culture cannabis growers, and (more prosaically, because everything shouldn’t be exciting) dairy and beef farms.
we were driving onto the Coupeville ferry and crossing over to the Olympic Peninsula. It’s a longer route, but so much prettier, and we avoided Seattle traffic. Heading south along the Hood Canal (it’s a fjord!) on a quiet two-lane road, we passed Hamma Hamma and Lilliwaup,
glimpsed a herd of elk grazing by the roadside
then merged onto the interstate (ugh). We powered past Portland and stopped in a town called Brownsville for the night. Google pointed us to a local joint called Kirk’s Ferry Trading Post for dinner. The food was OK but it was even better after we watched a vintage truck – the one we thought was part of the cool display of vintage tools and stuff out front – start with a groan
and a growl and slowly, very slowly, putter down the road. We noticed the truck owner’s wife scowl as she sped away in a separate vehicle. This is good, we thought!
1. Parked in front, the old Dodge blended into the scenery at Kirk’s Ferry Trading Post.
2. A single new wiper and a pair of sunglasses on the seat should have clued us in to the fact that this baby can still sputter. We assume local law enforcement officials look the other way when they see this vehicle.
The next day we crossed the Oregon/California border and sailed down a loopy mountain road in a downpour, finally arriving in peaceful little Ferndale at dusk. Early the following morning I wandered outside and watched a peaceful, pastoral scene unfold as the world was refreshed by September rains.
3. Rain, rain, rain on the scenic Redwood Highway, where we passed Broken Kettle Creek, Dead Horse Gulch, and Panther Flat but saw nothing but trees and water.
4. The clouds echoed the trees, or was it the other way ’round?
5. Cumulus clouds exploded over heaps of evergreen hills. This is a place where the built environment plays nicely with nature.
6. An almost full moon embellished the bucolic scene.
Contentment worked its way under our skin and deep into our bones as we strolled wide beaches, hiked emerald forests, and motored through rolling hills overlooking the empty Pacific far below. Daily coffee in a laid-back cafe with a workshop in back where kayaks are built by hand anchored us to Ferndale’s gentle rhythms.
We’re home now. I miss this exquisite corner of the world already.
Maybe you can see why.
7. The beach at Ma-l’el Dunes in Humboldt National Wildlife Refuge.
8. Wading in frigid water, exhaling deeply, flinging my arms wide: feeling good.
9. Another day, another beach: Centerville Beach, a county park that was almost deserted on a Tuesday morning.
10. What washes up here is more colorful than what I’m used to. I think this is Feather boa kelp (Egregia menziesii).
11. Dune grass improvises with wind and sand.
12. Looking south towards the Lost Coast from Centerville Beach.
13. Cliffs plunge to the sea at Lost Coast Headlands. Three geologic faults lie just off the shore here, making this area profoundly unstable.
14. High up on a hill overlooking the ocean a cowboy and his two dogs wrangled cattle.
We met a cast of friendly, eccentric characters on the trails, including a 94-year-old man intent on hiking a steep trail that connects grassland to the beach, a woman of a certain age hiking barefoot in the rain with two tiny dogs on leashes and a cat on her back, and a man who apparently went nowhere without his two cockatoos.
16. Along a trail in Headwaters Forest Reserve.
17. Reflections in Salmon Creek; Headwaters Forest Reserve.
18. A trail leads to an opening in the forest; Headwaters Forest Reserve.
19. The morning sparkled after rain showers at Headwaters Forest Reserve.
20. New growth on a Redwood at Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park.
21. A visitor photographs steam emanating from a sunlit redwood tree named Demeter at Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park. Nearby is “Iluvatar”, the world’s 16th largest tree. It has over 1 billion leaves and is over 1800 years old. http://famousredwoods.com/iluvatar/
22. Neck stretching at the Cal Barrel Road redwood grove in Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park.
23. Sword ferns thrive in the shade at the feet of redwood giants; Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park.
24. Deer fern fronds (Blechnum spicant) arch over a bed of Redwood sorrel (Oxalis oregana) at the base of a redwood tree; Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park.
On the way back home we spent two nights on the Oregon coast in the little town of Waldport. More on that later, but here is a view from the beach at low tide one morning:
25. Oregon Coast Moods
This trip went by too fast. I know I’m privileged to be able to spend any time at all at such spectacular places as California’s Redwood forests and its nearly deserted northern beaches. Breathtaking scenery awaits anywhere you look. Just let old habits drop away and look with new eyes.
bluebrightly 