All right, I'm going to say it aloud: This has been one rainy, windy, cold summer.
Again. This has been one crappy, crappy, crappy summer. We could have used some of that global warming up here this year.
I'm told it's all because we had such a mild winter, because El Nino was visiting and now he's going back to where he usually hangs out. That has Mother Nature all hormonal and we all know how PMS affects Mother Nature.
April was cold, cold enough to still be called winter. We skipped spring altogether and went right into a delightfully warm and sunny May. Then it all went downhill. Week after week of one storm after another. Cold winds, cold rains. Only brief breaks in between storm fronts.
Last night about 6 o'clock we had one of those breaks. I've been going bananas around here, bouncing off the walls, aching to get outside. I even shampooed carpets, for Pete's sakes.
I grabbed my litter-picking gear and walked south from my driveway. That darned wind had me wishing I'd brought a sweat band to keep my ears warm. At the two mile marker, I turned and headed back.
Here are some things I learned:
Raindrops on lupine
It's quite all right to stop and photograph rain drops on lupine leaves, but don't forget to take the camera setting off macro before you put it back in your pocket.
Otherwise....
Moose crossing in Macro mode.
...it will not focus 30 yards ahead when Mom Moose and her twin babies cross the highway in front of you. Rats, rats, and double rats.
Sigh.
I also learned that the lighting after a storm can be spectacular....
Lighting after the storm
...that the swimming hole is filled and about to overflow...
Ye olde swimming hole. Quick, pull the drain plug or the swimming hole's gonna be all over the highway.
...that fireweed is spectacular against white sweet yarrow....
...and what to wear when you get caught out in the rain and have a fanny pack filled with yellow litter bags.
I will admit that strange things have happened to me over the years, things I cannot explain.Sometimes—especially when I was younger—I somehow seemed to know things.I don’t have a name for it, and if I had to describe why it happens, the best I can come up with is perhaps at times I’m particularly in tune with my surroundings.
Other times, I’m oblivious, which is how I almost ran over a sandpiper in my driveway this afternoon.
But I wanted to get all that out of the way so there aren’t any misunderstandings later, after we re-entered the rainforest late that night in Yakutat, when circumstances got a bit out of control and approached eerie.
Looking back at all the photographs I took on that whole journey, initially I didn’t pay any attention to this photo.I took it earlier that afternoon as we were leaving Russell Fjord and climbing back into the rainforest.Just an anomaly, I thought, looking at that streak of whiteness.So what?Many of my photos have flaws or are not worth posting here.
Leaving Russell Fjord.
Then, late that evening as clouds were pocking the sky and making for a terrific sunset, we drove back to CannonBeach to decide where to camp.This would be our last night in our tents.Tomorrow night, we would stay at the Yakutat Bay View Lodge and clean up before we reentered civilization on the ferry. Real beds. Showers. No mosquitoes.
We went back to where we’d camped the night before at one of the cannons and re-hydrated our freeze dried dinners.The beef Stroganoff with noodles doesn’t look very appetizing, but it’s tasty and filling, and that’s all I’m going to say about it.
Out on the beach, it was still very light, despite what this photo into the sun looks like. But in the forest, it was getting quite dark.
Sunset at Cannon Beach
We decided to drive in the opposite direction and try to find the campsites we’d heard about.We found the first one, but it was occupied, so we drove farther.At least a quarter mile farther, if not a half mile. We found site number two and stopped to check it out.
Cannon Beach camp site.
Darkness had swallowed this site. The opening to the beach was light enough, but behind that it was dark and dreary. And unsettling. I looked around and didn’t see any place I wanted to pitch my tent. I hastened back to the truck.JJ did the same.
“Let’s try number three,” I said.We were silent for a while and then I said, “I didn’t like that spot.”
Old military roads near Cannon Beach.
“I didn’t either,” she said.
“I think something bad happened there,” I responded.
“It definitely gave off bad vibes,” she said.I noticed JJ was driving a little faster than normal on the dark, narrow gravel road.
Driving through the forest near Cannon Beach
Now that that was out in the open, we then proceeded to tell each other the kinds of stories that no one should recite if they are going to camp in the forest primeval with nothing but mosquito mesh and a thin sheet of ripstop nylon between them and eternity.
We found site number three.No bad juju here, except once again the campsite was deep in the trees.“I’m camping right here,” I declared and spread my ground cloth on the gravel next to the truck.It was not out of fear. The parking spot was in the open, light, and had no clouds of mosquitoes. They were all in the trees waiting for fresh blood and a feeding frenzy.
JJ did the same but soon found she couldn’t drive her tent pegs into the hard ground. She gathered her stuff and went down to the campsite.
JJ (or her ghost double) near Cannon Beach.
I stayed right where I was, got my tent up in record time, my air mattress inflated, and my sleeping bag ready.
I woke up the next morning.And that, as they say when people find themselves still alive, was that.All the bad juju was gone.I still feel something evil lurks around site number two.The photos I took that night are eerily similar—fuzzy, with streaks of light.
Enough.We woke up. The sun was shining.
Now was the time to check out the two-sided log structures we had seen.
Open air outhouse guarded by devil's club.
It had an accessible wheelchair ramp.
And a metal contraption holding a toilet seat.
But the toilet seat went nowhere.
We had found the Outhouse to Nowhere!
I think you’re supposed to insert your own bucket under the seat and empty the contents in the vault toilet back at the main Forest Service group area.
Then we were off into town, taking the long way around.We found waist high chocolate lily…
Yes, I know the shirt and pants are way too big for me. I was camping, for Pete's sakes. Look at the chocolate lily instead.
And huge skunk cabbage.
JJ and the giant skunk cabbage.
And a train under a protective roof.These are pieces of equipment from one of most unusual railroads in the world.Built in 1904, the Yakutat and Southern Railroad operated for about sixty years, hauling salmon from the banks of the SitukRiver to a cannery and wharf in Yakutat.The entire line was only eleven miles long, but was a principle factor in the economy of Yakutat for six decades.
Yakutat and Southern Railroad preservation site.
During WWII, the railroad was used to transport troops and equipment to the shoreline of the Gulf of Alaska.
(For more info:http://yakutat-southern.org/historypage2.html)
Afterward, we drove back to that enchanting pond we’d seen earlier.
People had told us we really shouldn’t miss this.So, once again, we started into the rainforest…
(to be continued. Cheer up, we're almost done with this trip.)
I parked at Tern Lake a couple nights ago to go kayaking. This truck pulled in next to me. On board was a tiny sea otter pup. It was in critical condition, so I couldn't talk them into letting me see it. Good luck, litte guy. But, wow! What a truck. It's from the Sealife Center in Seward.
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Our forests are not known for accessibility. They're usually so thick with undergrowth you can't walk through them. However, just down the road from my house, there's this anomaly.
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This lake grass grows from the bottom, then goes with the flow after it reaches the surface. This is one of the most intricate patterns I've seen. It reminds me of etched glass.
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Down this quiet little cul de sac, the beavers have been busy constructing another lodge. Talk about suburban sprawl.
Why two so close together when they have a whole lake to choose their site. Mother-in-law apartment, maybe?
Anyway, while beavers are known to be hard workers (I still can't figure out how they haul mud up the sides of those lodges to cement everything in place), they aren't known to be the quietest of neighbors.
To wit:
They make so much ado about nothing.... like a little blue kayak moseying their way.
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They should take a lesson from their more shy, quiet neighbors.
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A Norfolk pine, you think?
A whole forest of Norfolk pines?
Nope, swamp vegetation.
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Mom's making sure the little ones stay on the far side.
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You know it's been a wet summer when the Yellowlegs sandpiper, a marsh dweller, starts hanging out in your driveway.
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Fireweed's blooming. Local lore has it that when it blooms all the way to the top, or "tops out," winter is six weeks away. This means I can almost see winter from my porch.
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Sigh. Combine one chunk of nectarine with one seed cup and one parrot, and this is why parrots need napkins.
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While we're combining things, mix Tern Lake, one common loon, and the 10 PM light after the storm and you have this:
When JJ and I returned to the Russell Fjord trail head where the truck was parked, she again spotted hummingbirds flitting about in the trees. You know about hummingbirds, right? How they never hold still?
It took me a while to pick them out in the dense foliage, but once I figured out what color they were, I began seeing them everywhere. They were homing in on this peculiar hatched pattern that appeared to be intentionally cut into the bark and was leaking sap.
Here, without narrative or commercial interruption, are my attempts To Catch a Hummingbird. The birds are female Rufous Hummingbirds. Look for a green-backed, reddish-brown color. I used two different cameras, a Nikon D-40 SLR with a 200 mm lens and a Nikon Coolpix S8000 with 10x optical zoom. I was standing about 20 to 25 feet away.
With the D-40, I had to look through the view finder. With the Coolpix, a point and shoot, I had to guess because of how difficult it is to see the LCD screen in sunlight. The lesson I learned will be revealed at the end of this series of photos. I have cropped several of them to make it easier for you to spot the bird.
Lesson: The human life span is far too short to catch a hummingbird.
Raindrops on lupine
Moose crossing in Macro mode.
Lighting after the storm
