Life in the Fast Current

 

A Harlequin Duck floating through the rapids of

the Dosewallips River– note the “water off a duck’s back”

 

The Dosewallips River tumbles and roars out of the steep Olympic Mountains in northwest Washington, blue-green as it carries glacial silt from the high country. Nearby the Hamma Hamma, Duckabush, and Skokomish Rivers, also retaining Indian names, emerge with equal thunder from the great Olympic Range.

 

The Dosewallips has long had a place in my heart. Back in 1990, I camped at Elkhorn Campground, a remote Olympic National Forest campground along the river. The highlight of that trip was seeing Harlequin Ducks for the first time. We observed the ducks resting on the mossy banks of the opposite shore and watched them zoom past, carried by the fast current. Elkhorn Campground itself was also stunning, with its huge Douglas Firs overhead and light filtering down through Vine Maples along the river.

 

During the next few years I went back perhaps half-a-dozen times to photograph the Harlequin Ducks. This spring ritual was disrupted when business started taking me all over the country, but in 2009 I was home and able to visit the Dosewallips again.

 

Karen and I knew that in 2002, the raging river had washed out the Dosewallips Road below the campground during a fierce storm, in which the river changed course and cut deeply into the high bank that once towered above the road. This cut off the Elkhorn Campground and the National Park Service’s Dosewallips Campground a few miles higher on the road. After discussion of alternatives for replacing the road, which would have involved routing a new road through old-growth forest, the agencies agreed to just do nothing, retaining the old roadbed as a trail route.  Now Elkhorn Campground is accessible by a 1.5 mile hike around the washout using a steep, switchbacked trail.

 

We walked the trail in late May; upon reaching the campground we found that the picnic tables were still there, though the pit toilets were closed and the water system had been shut off. Wildflowers and ferns were growing up in old campsites that had not suffered from overuse and soil compaction in the campground’s heyday, so it was actually a lovely place. This would be a wonderful easy backpacking trip for a family, as people can still use the beautiful old campsites along the river.

 

As we approached the river, I readied my long lens and crouch-walked to the riverbank, using a fallen Douglas Fir to hide my advance. I ventured to look over the log … and right before me, just 15 feet away, were two female Harlequins! I motioned like a soldier in combat for Karen to come up with her video camera, and we photographed without evident concern from the ducks. This was to be the pattern of the rest of the day and on a second day of visiting soon after.

 

Taking a brief break from foraging in the fast current of the Dosewallips River  

 

The Harlequins were just not afraid of us, as long as we stayed just beyond their comfort zone of about 12 feet. They chatted to each other about the “big, stupid land creatures” that they saw sneaking up.

 

These two Harlequins were adult females, as far as I could tell, but they did not have young. Perhaps they were adolescent sisters. Farther down the river we observed and photographed a mother Harlequin with two fuzzy young, but here

 

The mother Harlequin Duck forages with her young along the riverbank  

 

there were no young in the campground stretch of the river. Nor were there any adult males; they may have already left the river to spend the rest of the year on Puget Sound.

 

My real interest was in getting action shots of the ducks. That was always a real challenge back in the days of 100 ISO film, but now that I use a digital camera, I can work well under more challenging conditions. I spent perhaps ten hours

 

Even a duck has to take a bath!

 

photographing the ducks and campground, and the photographs here represent my favorites.  As is often the case, my best photographs were taken while lying on my stomach on the gravel–which gave me a duck’s eye view of the action and a wet and dirty belly.  The combination of ducks feeding in the fast current of an aqua-blue river was wonderful!

 

Just a few notes about Harlequin biology. These northern ducks breed in the Pacific Northwest, yes, but they are also nesting in Siberia, Kamchatka, Baffin Island, Alaska, Greenland, and Iceland. They winter in Puget Sound, but also in the waters of the northern Atlantic and Pacific coast. They walk along the bottoms of fast streams–much like American Dippers, dislodging insect larvae and catching

 

A successful fishing trip on the Dosewallips  

 

small fish and mollusks. And they quietly nest along raging streams like the Dosewallips, hatching  six to eight young, on average. We are fortunate that we can see these beautiful birds year-round in the Pacific Northwest.

 

American Dipper foraging along the edge of the river  

 

 

Wildflowers and ferns are growing in unused campsites in Elkhorn Campground  

 

 

My favorite photograph of a Harlequin in the rapids  

 

 

The Dosewallips River has the aqua-blue color of glacial flour  

 

 

Sword Ferns rising around towering Douglas Firs in the beautiful campsites  

 

 

A stunning wild river, the Dosewallips plunges down its valley toward Hood Canal

 

 

The Asian design of Vine Maples above the aqua waters of the river

 

 

Pausing for a brief rest between dives in the fast river   

 

 

I built a stone cairn in the late afternoon reflections on the river  

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website

Click on the photographs below to see them in a larger size, with captions.

Visions of Hell Quenched

 

 

Great Horned Owl in Lava Pit Crater

 

 

A time traveler here could see red magma flowing out of deep vents and volcanic bombs tossed through the air as a huge blast forms deep craters.  A version of hell or a terrible war zone.  This is Diamond Craters, a place unexpected in the remote desert.  Karen and I visited Diamond Craters in late April 2009, in conjunction with our trip to Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, which I described in another recent post:  Malheur in April.

 

Diamond Craters Outstanding Natural Area is on Bureau of Land Management (BLM) land adjacent to Malheur.  One of the wonderful aspects of the experience here is that we can explore on our own; there is a volcanic cinder road and a few short (but poorly marked) trails.  Other than that, we are free to tramp around the craters and cut our boots on jagged lava and watch for rattlesnakes and enjoy the vast blue desert sky.

 

I’ve been here several times over the years, and the first time was terrific, when I climbed down into Lava Pit Crater and observed a family of Great Horned Owls with three nearly mature young.  Karen and I decided this time that we could try and see if the owls still nested there.  While glassing the sheer walls of the crater from the rim, I spotted a mature Great Horned Owl perched on a ledge along the vertical wall.  We decided at that point that we would make a careful descent into the heart of the crater. 

 

Lava Pit Crater is not large or deep, but the path down is tricky.  The first time I climbed down it, about 15 years ago, I fell and conked my long lens against a boulder.  My body is getting more fragile as I age, so I have to be more careful now (he says while nursing an ankle sprained while jogging!).  We took our time on this hike, and made it to the bottom without incident.  The broken volcanic rock is unstable underfoot, making a clanking sound when rock hits rock.

 

Inside the crater, we found the nest, which wasn’t too difficult; we just looked for the places with a lot of “whitewash.”  One adult was sitting on the nest, and eventually we saw a youngster sticking its fuzzy white head out from beneath the mother.  The nestling was too young to hold its head up for long, and it repeatedly wriggled under its parent’s body for shelter and warmth.

 

We spent the rest of the day investigating the craters and scattered wildflowers of Diamond Craters.  We especially enjoyed the sight of Malheur Maar, which is a crater resulting from a volcanic explosion that later filled with water.  The small desert lake has held water for about 7,000 years, according to scientists, and was home to Red-winged Blackbirds and American Coots during our visit.  Its deep sediments have botanical clues to the climate of the geologically recent past.

 

Malheur Maar is an explosive volcanic crater now filled with water; the tiny, geologically important lake is home to waterfowl and marsh birds 

 

The BLM has an outstanding brochure, available online, called the Diamond Craters Tour Brochure that interprets the geological formations of Diamond Craters.  I found this brochure to be among the most informative interpretive guides I’ve ever read; it is endlessly informative and doesn’t “dumb it down” for the general public.  The brochure says that the volcanic activity at Diamond Craters is relatively recent at under 25,000 years.  The hot springs in the region, including the one below Steens Mountain that is such a great place to soak on a cold day, show that geothermal activity is alive and well nearby.

 

Side-blotched Lizard in Diamond Craters Outstanding Natural Area

 

 

Sand Lily growing on volcanic tuff

 

 

East Twin Maar, a volcanic crater caused by an explosion

 

 

A Western Juniper stands alone on the flanks of a volcanic crater complex

 

 

Jackrabbit jawbones from animals probably killed by a Great Horned Owl 

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website

Click on the photographs below to see them in a larger size, with captions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dawn on the Sagebrush Plain

 

 

Greater Sage-Grouse dancing on lek near Malheur National Wildlife Refuge

 

 

They gather in darkness, males on a mission.  Elaborately costumed, they begin to dance to an ancient inner song in a place that has remained a tradition for countless generations.  Spread out among the sagebrush, the males strut and puff out their chests in a show of virility and athletic prowess.  Their tail feathers fan out like those of a wild turkey.  These native Americans are the Greater Sage-Grouse, and this is their lek.  

 

Karen and I shimmied out of our sleeping bags at 4:30 a.m., leaving our tent while stars still glowed in the endless high desert sky.  It was 22°F on this clear morning and there was no time to make coffee, so I substituted a Diet Coke to get my caffeine fix, hoping that adrenaline would also kick in upon seeing the Sage-Grouse.  We drove the 20 or so miles up to the lek, arriving at 5:30 a.m. as the sky was brightening.  We turned off the car engine, and began watching.  

 

The Sage-Grouse wait for no human, so the display was well underway.  We counted 13 males, many strutting at once.  After an intense session of dancing, the tail feathers would fold and a male would take a break.  Then, if a nearby male started strutting, others in its vicinity would resume.

 

We have been to this lek perhaps seven times through the years, beginning about 15 years ago.  The numbers of birds and birders vary from time to time, but it is always unforgettable.  On our first morning this year we were the only humans at

 

Directly across the road from the lek

 

the lek.  We decided to go a second morning, and we were one of five cars.  Every birder was on their good behavior; nobody got out of their cars to try to get a closer look (unlike one year, when a loud trip leader gathered the birders around him outside the vehicles).  Grouse on a lek are sensitive to human disturbance, so it is important to minimize the threat to the birds.  Sometimes other creatures will show up; this year a lone Pronghorn walked nearby.  We have also seen Mule Deer and a Badger.

 

Some mornings we have seen a lot of chasing and jousting of aggressive males (you have to love that testosterone!).  One time we saw a female go from male to male, observing its display with a critical eye, then go on to the next, and so on–as if she was on a shopping trip.  Which, in a sense, she was.  From our readings, we understand that there are one or two males in a lek who occupy the most important location, and they are the ones who will most likely attract the female (it’s kind of like high school, with the football star and the prom queen likely to match up).  After the mating is done, the male is abandoned by the female; she goes to make a nest and he just keeps dancing.

 

The Sage-Grouse display is a blend of visual and auditory cues for the female; if you listen carefully you can hear strange pumping and flapping sounds that are part of the ritual.  Since the experience is so sensory, I will stop trying to describe it here and let the photographs speak for those wonderful mornings we spent in the sage.

 

A sequence, facilitated by the camera’s motor drive, of the Greater Sage-Grouse mating dance

 

On our first morning this year, at about 8:30 a.m., the males collectively decided that the dawn dance was done.  One flew a beeline over the road toward a low ridge; one after another all the others quickly followed, leaving the lek quiet and lonely.  The next morning, we left before the grouse did.  On our way down, we saw a pair of Wild Horses.

 

High desert sky above the sagebrush on the road to the Greater Sage-Grouse lek

 

If you go, stop at Malheur National Wildlife Headquarters for directions to the lek, which is on BLM land about ten miles up a sometimes rough gravel road to the west of the refuge.  The grouse are on the lek each morning from sometime in March until sometime in May.

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website

Malheur in April

 

 

Buena Vista Ponds and Overlook in beautiful light

 

 

When the Olympic Peninsula’s spring rains get the better of me, my mind wanders to the high desert of eastern Oregon, where the wide open spaces and vast blue sky provide a particularly American salve for the soul.  In that land of sagebrush, my favorite place is Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, which is located south of Burns, about 550 miles from my home.  This year Karen and I spent a day on each end driving, plus three days, April 24 to 26, in and around the refuge.

 

I like Malheur in any season, but July can be a bit sleepy and hot.  Late March is great for seeing thousands of Ross’s and Snow Geese near Burns; the sight of ten thousand white geese suddenly lifting off a marsh is enough to inspire my love of nature for years.  This year our window of opportunity was late April; to paraphrase Donald Rumsfeld’s crude comment:  you go to bird with the time you have, not the time you might want.

 

Just over 100 years ago, Malheur was a hotspot for plume hunters.  In the early 1900s, ladies loved to wear egret plumes on their hats with the same fashion intensity that twenty-somethings now feel for their eyebrow piercings.  Bird populations at Malheur and the Everglades and other bird hotspots were mined for feathers by hunters who were as plume crazy as the ladies that lunch.  To stop the slaughter in its bloody tracks, President Theodore Roosevelt created Malheur National Wildlife Refuge in 1908.

 

It took another crisis and another Roosevelt to develop the refuge’s infrastructure.  During the Great Depression of the 1930s, young men working in two CCC camps on the refuge built the beautiful stone headquarters complex, as well as two fire towers and the Center Patrol Road that so many of us now like to explore.  You can thank Franklin Roosevelt’s presidency for this birding opportunity.  Some say the 1930s social programs such as the CCC were makework jobs programs:  don’t believe it for an instant.  Everywhere across America our state and national parks and refuges owe much of their long-term success to this early, sensitive development by hard-working young men and the designers and foremen who led them.  This program was the very model for success, and I would like to see a new version implemented today.

 

Birders know the key birding locations at Malheur, and there are plenty of guidebooks that tell the best places to see various birds.  I’m not going to reiterate

 The Center Patrol Road runs north and south through the heart of Malheur

these, but I’ll give a few impressions of our experiences at the hotspots.  I’m also not going to list the species we saw, because I didn’t keep a list and I’m not much of a birder anyway; I’m more interested in photographing and observing intensely rather than seeing how many species I can see.  I’ve never quite gotten the gestalt of bird identification that the best birders have.

 

Double-O Ranch is a favorite place.  With water levels low in Harney Lake and elsewhere, the areas west of Double-O are blindingly white with salt crystals that

 

 Alkali flats west of Double-O Ranch in Malheur National Wildlife Refuge

 

look as if snow has blanketed the desert.  It is truly an alien environment, but one Killdeer didn’t seem to mind.  She laid her eggs in a shallow scrape in the salty soil; when we got too close, she tried to lead us away from the nest with her trademarked broken wing ruse.  Which reminds me:  about ten years ago we were on the Center Patrol Road and found a Killdeer nest on the shoulder of the gravel road.  In this instance the Killdeer did not run away; instead, it attacked me and my lens with a ferocity that reminded me of insanity.  I was able to get so close to this bird that I got full-frame pictures with a 24mm lens.  It is possible that the bird was attacking its own reflection in the lens, but who knows what’s in a bird brain?

 

Double-O was also good for Willets and American Avocets and a variety of ducks this year.  The small ponds are good for photographing these wading birds, using

 

American Avocet feeding near Double-O Ranch

 

the vehicle as a blind.  In the past we have seen Short-eared Owls and Black-tailed Jackrabbits here, but not this year.

 

One late afternoon a windstorm arose.  In most places a windstorm is unsettling and unpleasant for birding, but here the high winds reduce visibility dramatically.  As the wind races across the abnormally dry expanses of Harney Lake and Malheur Lake, it picks up the salty dust from the lake surface.  Dust devils twirl in

 

A dust storm created when wind whipped across a dry lakebed

 

happy abandon during the lighter winds, but in a heavy blow the dust rises in thick clouds from the dry lakes, reminding us of the dust bowl photos from the dry 1930s in Oklahoma.  It is grim.  The normally calm surface of Benson Pond turned into a severe chop that tested the seaworthiness of the Trumpeter Swans.  Most of the Common Egrets in the area gathered together in the willows to ride out the storm on bucking branches.  Fishermen out for opening day on Krumbo Reservoir had to give up the quest.  Birders’ Subarus driving down the paved road sent up plumes of white dust.  Fortunately, the wind settled down that evening.

 

Refuge headquarters is a good place for birders to stop.  We always check out the visitor center whiteboard with recent bird sightings;  in addition, the tall cottonwoods and nearby water attract all sorts of rarities each year.  My favorite sight this year was seeing Yellow-headed Blackbirds and California Quail feeding at the seed feeder in front of the visitor center.  A Red-tailed Hawk screeched obscenities at us from its high nest over the museum building.  Belding’s Ground Squirrels appeared and disappeared like the groundhog star of Caddyshack.

 

Down the road at Buena Vista Overlook we watched lichens, which is much easier than watching birds but not quite as exciting. Though they may be even harder to identify.  One chartreuse lichen, in particular, grew vividly on the north sides of volcanic boulders; the other sides must get sunlight too intense for this species.

 

A Ruddy Duck with a bill to match the clear desert sky

 

Down on the Buena Vista Ponds, Ruddy Ducks with their intense blue bills stole the show, though the Marsh Wrens and Cinnamon Teal competed for our attention.  This year the light was wonderful on these ponds; sometimes when I’ve been here the ponds were dry, so this was beautiful.

 

One last favorite stop is at P Ranch.  If we were here a month later we could see Bobolinks establishing territories in grassy meadows just to the north.  This time, we saw dozens of Turkey Vultures coming in at sunset to roost in their traditional location:  up and down the tall fire tower.  P Ranch is a good place to watch for Great-horned Owls roosting in the cottonwood grove.  One year we saw five porcupines feeding at sunset in the meadows near here.  Each porcupine, backlit by the setting sun, had a quill halo that reminded me of a particular late ’60s Bob Dylan album cover.  Kind of a prickly memory and an indicator of my age.  Another year here I saw a Mule Deer with a fawn so fresh that the doe was still bloody from the birth.

 

I could ramble on about our Malheur nature experiences for hours, but my dear readers might abandon me wholesale.  I will, however, mention that we also saw a weasel (my highlight for the trip!) along the Center Patrol Road that I attracted with my crude rendition of bird spishing.  We also observed several pairs of Coyotes that ran away as if we were some rifle-toting ranchers; plus some Sandhill Cranes lifting off in their achingly graceful dances; and Wild Horses and Pronghorns gracing the sagebrush hills bordering the refuge.

 

If you’ve never been to Malheur in the Spring, you are depriving yourself of one of the great birding experiences in the West.  Get in your car, do the un-green thing and drive hundreds of miles to the refuge, and have one of the finest birding experiences of your life.  Malheur’s aura will stay with you for years.

 

 

   Willows intense with spring color near Frenchglen and P Ranch

 

Sagebrush and willows along the edge of Benson Pond

 

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website

Click on the photographs below to see them in a larger size, with captions.

The Old West Lingers on in the Oregon Outback

 

 

An old cow skull and handmade chair on the porch of the Frenchglen Mercantile

 

“Next gasoline 99 miles,” read the sign just east of Bend, Oregon.  We were on a late April trip to eastern Oregon, land of high desert and vast, sagebrush-covered distances.  There used to be several mom-and-pop gas stations along this straight stretch from yuppie Bend to cowboy Burns, 

but these places now sport broken windows and tumbleweeds.  Just the kinds of places that Americans think of when we imagine Route 66.

 

Driving past the road to the Pine Mountain Observatory; it’s the wrong time of day to stop for sky-watching.  Passing Glass Mountain, a mountain of shiny obsidian (black volcanic glass); someday we’ll stop, but our time is limited.  A quick stop to check out the restored buildings in the historic Civilian Conservation Corps at Gap Camp Ranch, where young men labored under the hot sun and into hope.  

 

Into Burns, a small town of ranchers and loggers hit hard by the timber wars of the 1990s, that left mills without enough logs from public land to stay open.  Burns is the place to fill up with gas and groceries for the push into even more remote country.  I stop here for some quick photos of signs and an abandoned motel.  Then we push on for another 60 miles without a town along the route.

 

We pulled into Frenchglen (population 11) as twilight approached.  This town was named for Peter French, a cattle baron of the late 19th century who controlled most

 

 

of the land in the vast valley of the Donner und Blitzen River.  He left his mark on the land with scattered ranch outposts and a spectacular round barn in the middle of nowhere.  Alas, in old West tradition, he was murdered by an outlaw.

 

Frenchglen is tiny.  There is a K-8 school that draws kids from the surrounding ranches.  Eleven of them, as counted in a photo from the Frenchglen school website, but a more recent article pegs the number at 14.  Just imagine, in our world of vast suburban sprawl, that this direct descendent of the one-room schoolhouse still exists!  And how different the education of these children must be.

 

Across the road, the Frenchglen Mercantile stands tidy … and empty.  As does the house next door where I believe the owner used to live.  A sign on the window of the store says you can still get gas here if you place a phone call to a nearby resident:  $40 minimum plus a $2.50 service fee; cash only, please.  I imagine this recession and high gas prices and the increasingly urban interests of our society made life difficult for the owner of this little store.

 

Just down the road is the Frenchglen Hotel, which is actually a state historic site that still offers lodging to folks passing through.  As of 2008, the price for a room was $67.  There is a colorful true story about the hotel’s manager from 1948 to 1974.  One night, after a few drinks, Kenny Pruitt decided that he needed to remove his own appendix and did some self-surgery.  It didn’t have a good outcome, as you might guess.  Read more about Pruitt and the colorful history of the hotel in an article by Richard Cockle at The Oregonian.

 

We drove on a couple more miles to our destination, the pleasant Page Springs Campground operated by the Bureau of Land Management.  This camp sits at the base of Steens Mountain, accessible by road in the summer but certainly not in April, when snow still blankets the nearly 10,000 foot peak.  We set up camp and crawled into our sleeping bags after I tinkered with a few night photos in camp.  

 

We awoke just after dawn, to a temperature of 22 degrees F.  You might think late April in the desert would be relatively warm, but this is high desert.  The campground is at a 4,200 foot elevation, so nights here can be cold until summer

 

 

arrives.  From here, we spent three intense days visiting a Greater Sage Grouse lek, Malheur National Wildlife Refuge, and the Diamond Craters volcanic area.  I’ll describe these in detail in another post, but one more note about the settlements of the area.  The next day we visited the hamlet of Diamond, which sports two signs:  one says “Population 5,” and the other says “Congestion,” seemingly with a straight face.

 

Highway cut through a rock outcrop near Frenchglen

 

 

Cattle trails on rangeland near Burns

 

The classic Central Hotel sign in Burns has Art Deco touches

 

 

Western Juniper in our campsite with a dazzling starry sky above

 

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website

Click on the photographs below to see them in a larger size, with captions.

 

 

A Murder of Crows, Northwestern Style

A Northwestern Crow pauses for a portrait

Spread out across the beach, each Northwestern Crow was busy overturning oyster shells to see what tasty tidbits might be hiding beneath. This went on for a long time, until a pair of teenage girls showed up with a bag of Cheetos and tossed the orange curls into the air, attracting every gull and crow in sight. Cheetos trump oysters for most of these birds–and for most teenagers.

A murder of Northwestern Crows feeding in an oyster bed exposed at low tide in Illahee State Park.

There have recently been some great low tides combined with afternoon sun at Illahee State Park, located on Puget Sound near Bremerton, Washington, USA. These low tides expose a beach packed with oysters, as well as other areas dense with Eccentric Sand Dollars (that’s their name; I don’t know if their behavior is eccentric). There must have been nearly 100 Northwestern Crows in attendance; between them and the gulls it made for a raucous party atmosphere.

This  Northwestern Crow is not giving me the evil eye; it simply blinked for an instant when I took the photograph.  The bluish-white eye covering is a nictating membrane that covers the eye briefly to moisten it and to protect it from sharp bills and talons.  Humans have a lump of tissue in the inside corner of the eye that might be a vestigial nictating membrane.

Northwestern Crows have long been suspect among ornithologists. Are they really a distinct species from the American Crow, which most of us associate with scarecrows and corn? I’m not sure, but the foraging behavior on the beach and the lower, hoarser call are distinctive. Genetic studies are being done that may solve the question, but it is helpful to consider that our rigid classifications of species does not really match the sliding scales of classification that nature uses.

Northwestern Crows forage on the beach by using the bill as a tool for turning over oyster shells and looking underneath for food.

 

Male Bufflehead in breeding plumage navigating the waves.

Illahee State Park is a small, but beautiful state park on Port Orchard Bay. Tall lowland conifers–Douglas Fir, Western Hemlock, and Western Red Cedar–provide a peaceful forest for a picnic, for camping, or for a short hike (oh, oh–I’m starting to sound like the Chamber of Commerce!).

The most distinctive tree in the woods here is a Pacific Yew that is the Washington state champion for that species. 400 years old with an impressive girth, this tree can also be proud that it contains Taxol, a pharmacological compound unique to the Pacific Yew that was discovered in the 1990s to be a cancer fighter, useful in therapy for breast cancer and Kaposi’s sarcoma. At first, Taxol was extracted from yew bark, but is is currently cultured in the laboratory.

Most of the Eccentric Sand Dollars are buried in the sand, with just a crescent showing.

A steep, switchbacked road leads down to the Illahee Beach for the waterfront experience. There is a pier leading to a dock where boats can tie up for the night; there is also a boat launch. In addition to the birds and seashore life, I found the dock to be fascinating. The pilings supporting the dock are covered underwater with big crabs, sea stars, and other marine invertebrates that we rarely see. Be sure to take a look if you go.

Marine life on a piling at Illahee State Park.

While on the dock, photographing crows, a pair of drab green military helicopters flew low over the beach. Of course, I raised my long lens to photograph them–which might not have been the wisest thing for me to do since I imagine my lens could look like a hand-held missle launcher from a distance. Anyway, I was lucky:  they didn’t turn me into pink mist, or even send the Black Suburbans to pick me up.

 

Two quiz items for you:  I know what species the eye belongs to, do you? The other creature is an interesting intertidal animal–could you help me identify it?

Who owns this eye?

What the heck is this (the broken shell is not related)?

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website

Click on the photographs below to see them in a larger size, with captions.

Sacred Ground: The Flight 93 National Memorial

Mennonite women viewing the folk art angels commemorating the souls who died in the Flight 93 crash. The actual crash site is in the far distance on the right in this scene. You might be able to see the distant flag.

 

Rare shared moments in our lives are seared into our brains.  On September 11, 2001, I awoke on a warm late summer morning to the voice of Carl Kasell on NPR, saying there were reports that a plane had hit the World Trade Center in New York.  Almost immediately came reports of a second plane hitting the other tower, and all hell broke loose.  Our lives were never to be quite the same again. 

Six years on, I was in Washington D.C. on September 11.  Leaving town, I drove north into Pennsylvania toward Pittsburgh; somewhere along the  road, it struck me that I must be following roughly the path that the fourth plane hijacked by the terrorists would have taken toward Washington D.C., only in reverse. I stopped, looked at a map, and determined that I could stop for a day at the field where United Airlines Flight 93 crashed into the ground, ending the lives of all aboard.

I drove through the beautiful Pennsylvania countryside that day, enjoying the touches of autumn, covered bridges, pastoral farms, and small towns that have remained much the same for decades. Near Shanksville, I followed signs to the Flight 93 site.  When I arrived, there were a few scattered cars and Harleys, as well as a tour bus filled with Mennonite men and women on an outing.  The place was quiet, except for the American flags flapping in the brisk and chill wind.

Mennonite ladies pause to view a collage of heartfelt tributes to the heroic passengers and crew of Flight 93.

Every American alive on 9/11 knows the stories of that day, but it was with a sense of awe, wonder, and sorrow that I relived the tragedy and heroism of that day in this sacred place.  Flight 93 was heading for San Francisco from Newark.  It got a late start, but the flight looked smooth on this beautiful day for the seven members of the flight crew and 37 passengers. Over Ohio, the four hijackers made their move in the first class cabin.  They incapacitated the pilots, took control of the plane, and turned back toward Washington D.C.  By this time the passengers, talking on cell phones to family and friends, learned that three planes had already hit their targets and their plane was to be the fourth.  They probably didn’t know it, but the target was to be the White House or the Capitol Building.

From their cell phone conversations, we know that the passengers voted to try and retake the plane.  Todd Beamer has become the most famous of a group of men who hatched a plan and launched a counterattack.  The black box recording of the cockpit provided evidence that the counterattack was effective in thwarting the plans of Al Qaeda; the terrorist pilot ended up diving the plane straight into a reclaimed strip mine field at over 500 miles per hour.  Everyone died instantly.  You can review the events of the flight at http://www.nps.gov/flni

We know there were heroes that day, and when I stood on that sacred ground I could feel that heroism in my very bones.  Spirits inhabit the place and every visitor is quiet and reverential.  Few places evoke so many quiet tears.

Visiting Americans have left thousands of remembrances: crosses, flags, notes of admiration, motorcycle club patches,firefighter memorabilia, and so many other items are collected on a memorial wall.  Volunteers from the area provide heartfelt interpretation of the events of that day.

A reverential biker views the names of the passengers and crew.

Visitors are not allowed on the actual crash site; that is reserved for family members of the crew and passengers.  The crash site is visible from the hill where the memorial is located.  As of this 2009 writing, there is a temporary memorial; soon there will be a permanent memorial building and exhibits run by the National Park Service.  The website I linked to above has extensive information and graphics concerning the design of the permanent memorial, which will be a reverential reminder of the events of the fateful day.  In addition, there is a website where you can learn about donating to the memorial, and get another narrative of the events of the day.  Go to: http://www.honorflight93.org/

Items donated by visitors decorate the 40′ tribute wall.

I came away with a sense of pride that Americans had the courage to take the course of events into their own hands that day.  It is among our proudest moments as a nation.

 

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website

Click on the photographs below to see them in a larger size, with captions.

 

Aug. 29 to Sept. 2, 2008 The Goat Rocks Wilderness

Backpacker choosing an off-trail route down the snowfield below Elk Pass

There are places on earth to which my mind wanders in quiet moments, thinking back to great hikes through alpine wilderness. The Goat Rocks Wilderness is one of those places. The Goat Rocks are the remains of a 12,000 foot Cascades volcano that blew its top some two million years ago, leaving jagged peaks reaching to over 8,000 feet. Located in Washington State between two “living” volcanoes, Mt. Rainier and Mt. Adams, the Goat Rocks Wilderness is part of the Gifford Pinchot and Mt. Baker-Snoqualmie National Forests. But enough geography. What I want to tell you about is one of the great hikes in America.

Five of us left the North Fork Tieton Trailhead at the start of Labor Day weekend, for a five day backpacking trip. I was the lone male with four ladies, including my wife, Karen, and friends Betty, Sue, and Joan. As we shouldered our packs, a group left just ahead of us on horseback, which would be an easier way to go if we had horses. We don’t. Plus I think my photography of natural details would suffer if I was always looking way down from the high perch of a horse.

The first part of the trail is a long, but gradual ascent to a ridge where the North Fork Tieton Trail meets the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT, also known as Trail 2000). This trail leads through old-growth forest with huge hemlocks and firs; streams trickle down off the high ridges. When we reached the PCT, we turned left and marched toward the McCall Basin, where we planned to camp for four nights. Along this stretch of trail, we encountered a series of Pacific Crest Trail thru-hikers, which I detailed in a previous blog entry Pickles, Seven, Money and More. 

We camped the first night in lower McCall Basin, along a bend in the North Fork Tieton River. In the subalpine meadows here, wildflowers bloomed late. On our previous hike to this basin on the same weekend some six years

Tieton Peak catching the last light above McCall Basin

before, we encountered only late gentians in bloom; this time, the wildflowers were at a peak of color. The snow must have melted out late this year. The mountains above McCall Basin were catching the alpenglow on this clear evening. As we drifted off to sleep, the trumpeting cries of a band of Elk drifted down from the nearby mountainsides.

The next morning we decided to move to a different campsite in what we call the Upper McCall Basin. While the lower McCall Basin is gentle and flat with beautiful meadows studded by pointy firs, the upper basin feels raw, as if the glaciers left just yesterday. It is a distinctly different experience to be up there, but it is lonely and has the feeling of real wilderness, where humans can only be visitors. We set up our new camp in a patch of woods, then set off to explore the upper basin.

A waterfall plunging into an ice cave in the cirque of Upper McCall Basin

The day was cold and windy with a threat of rain from low, gray clouds overhead, so layers of fleece and down and wind-blocking shells were the rule. With warm woolen hats knitted in Nepal. Again, we were surprised at the lush wildflowers still in bloom. Near a series of cliffs and waterfalls, we found a family of Hoary Marmots, with three youngsters sitting on a big rock while the mother looked on nearby. Unfortunately, that was the only wildlife we saw in the basin, other that the freshly-picked bones of an Elk fawn. When we had hiked here six years ago, we counted 32 Mountain Goats and a band of 10 Elk. Later, back in camp, we met a man who reminded me of Moses; he carried a tall staff, had flowing gray hair, and was leading a flock of fellow hikers on a long day hike. We told him that we were disappointed at the lack of Mountain Goats. He then told us a long story, relating how a rogue hunter had entered the basin in early autumn six years before and had singlehandedly murdered an entire band of 44 Mountain Goats, leaving their carcasses to rot on the cold ground. He said that the authorities were still hoping that the killer would blab in some bar, bragging at what he had done, and would eventually be caught. Moses described this terrible story with such earnestness that we were all bummed for the entire weekend. Well, maybe that’s overstating our degree of bummedness, but we did indeed feel bad. Moses also told of hunters who had killed a 600 pound bear very close to where we made our camp. That put us on edge, so we made sure to hang our food high. Then Moses led his flock out of our basin and back out of the wilderness.

An addendum: When I returned to civilization, I made inquiries to the U.S. Forest Service, to a state DNR biologist, and to a prominent local outdoor writer about the killing of the Mountain Goats. None of them had heard of it. The writer said that he had been hearing stories of massive goat kills in the Goat Rocks Wilderness since he was a teenager, and that once he had even gone up in a helicopter to try and confirm a story. None of these incidents had ever been confirmed, so he thinks they are all merely myths spread by word-of-mouth. While many people are fooled by urban myths on the internet, we were apparently duped by a wilderness myth told by Moses. Anyway, I’m glad it wasn’t true … or was it?

The Pacific Crest Trail climbs through high subalpine forests

The next morning we rose early to make breakfast and prepare for our hike to the high and barren ridges crossed by the Pacific Crest Trail. Unfortunately, the day dawned gray and cold again, so we would have to hope for better weather as the day wore on. It didn’t happen.

Snowfields and raw rock on a peak hidden by dense clouds

As we walked upward along the PCT, we walked into the clouds and it began snowing. Scraggly fir trees wore a fresh coat of ice, and we wore every layer we had, including mittens. As we approached Elk Pass, I found a high gravel plateau overlooking the valley below. Here Mountain Goats had rested.

Shallow bed created by a Mountain Goat on a high overlook

We saw where they had used their feet to scape rocks out of the way, forming roughly circular beds where they could comfortably rest. There was also plenty of scattered goat scat. I picked up a piece of chert that looked out of place; about 2.5 inches in diameter, its edges had been worked into a tool by ancient hunters. It may have been used to scrape Mountain Goat hides in this very location several thousand years ago.

Chert tool left on a high overlook, perhaps for several thousand years

The sense of timelessness of wilderness came upon me in a rush. Looking around, I also found numerous obsidian flakes that had been made by native Americans long ago. In researching this location later, I found out that early Indians had an obsidian mine site at Elk Pass that archaeologists say was used from 6,500 to 500 years B.P. (before present); they came up here both to hunt and to mine the volcanic stone from which they could create arrowheads and other tools. I can just imagine people looking out from this high ridge for thousands of years. But if they were here on a day like this, they would see only gray clouds.

Twisted trees enduring fresh snow blowing through the high country

We climbed higher, eventually reaching Elk Pass. We passed hikers coming from the other side of the Goat Rocks, including one young man who had just emerged from the clouds. He said apprehensively that he had never done anything like this before. He may never again, but at least he will have the memory of a solid accomplishment in his life. While resting at the pass, I decided that Elk Pass should be renamed “Dead Elk Pass,” at least for this hiking season. On a snowbank just below the pass lay the carcass of an adult Elk, with the nearby remains of either a very young Elk or an Elk fetus. The bones had been recently picked clean, with Gray Jays still doing their wilderness duty of visiting the bones to get the last remnants of meat as we watched. We don’t know if the Elk may have died in birthing its young, or if it was surprised by a Cougar at the pass. A predator–probably a Cougar but perhaps a Coyote–had left scats right atop the rib cage bones of the younger Elk. I’m not an expert, but the constrictions in the scat would indicate Cougar, which may be more than you wanted to know.

Adult Elk skeleton at Elk Pass (above) with skeleton of fawn or fetus about 30′ away (below)

I spent perhaps an hour at Elk Pass photographing, while some of our group hiked higher into the clouds. They got very cold and soon returned. We decided that the threat of hypothermia from blowing snow on the exposed ridge was too great, and we began our long descent back to camp, regretting that the views weren’t better.

Warming ourselves around a campfire that night, we talked about a strategy for the next day. We decided that if it was once again cold and gray, we would hike out a day early. But if the first person to get up the next morning saw clear skies, at least some of us would again attempt the same hike as we did today. Awakening at 4:00 a.m. to answer nature’s call outside, I saw only a heavy cloud cover. But when I was the first one up two hours later, I was greeted by a sea of blue sky. I woke everyone and suggested we try again. So we ate a quick breakfast and motivated our tired bodies to again begin the long trudge up to Elk Pass. But this day was different, exhilaration was in the air.

As we hiked higher, we encountered several Hoary Marmots who didn’t mind posing for pictures. The views from the ridge were wonderful and became better the higher we climbed, though there were some clouds forming. We went still higher beyond Elk Pass, passing a Mountain Goat chilling out on a snowfield and a couple of Gray-crowned Rosy Finches foraging in the talus–true residents of the high country. We could see for miles on the exposed ridge and felt the exhilaration that always comes in high places. Maybe it’s the thin air!  

This ridge is steep and narrow; there are old, wind-blasted U.S. Forest Service signs dating from way back in the last century that warn travelers that it was only safe to take 30 stock at a time over the next stretch of trail. We met PCT thru-hikers who proclaimed that this was the most magnificent stretch of the long trail since the best of California’s High Sierra mountains. And still higher we climbed, to the highest point along the trail. Then the time caught up with us and we realized that it was time to descend quickly to camp. We arrived back at deep twilight, satisfied with a day well-spent in the mountains. We slept well on our last night, happy after the day’s wonderful experiences.

The Pacific Crest Trail winds through subalpine meadows north of Elk Pass

Lupine and other wildflowers border an alpine stream

Mt. Ives viewed from the Pacific Crest Trail in the Goat Rocks

The PCT follows a steep ridge near Elk Pass

Remnant snowfield with watermelon snow

The highlight on our last morning was when Betty put on her bright magenta camp slippers–a nice complement to the violet-blue lupines around camp. Then we packed up and began the long trek down out of the Goat Rocks, another memorable trip to add to the stories of our lives.

Betty’s “Fairy Slippers” for wearing around camp

Trail Statistics:  7.5 miles and 2,000′ elevation gain from North Fork Tieton River Trailhead to our camp in McCall Basin (4.9 miles to PCT, 1.6 miles along PCT, 1 mile along side trail into McCall Basin, where there are plenty of horse and backpacker campsites).  Our camp in the upper McCall Basin was at 5,320′ elevation.  The round-trip hikes to Elk Pass were about 8.5 miles and a 1,500 foot elevation gain.  The highest point we reached above Elk Pass was about 400′ higher and half-a-mile farther.

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website

Click on the photographs below to see them in a larger size, with captions.

March 8, 2009 Hurricane Ridge in Winter

Common Raven calling from the old trunk of a Whitebark Pine.

At the end of the day of snowshoeing, we were ready to leave the parking lot high atop Hurricane Ridge in Washington state’s Olympic National Park. One car remained, a Volkswagen Jetta that the four occupants couldn’t budge from its parking space. The parking brake cable was frozen. One of the four 20-year-olds crawled under the car and tapped on the cable with a hammer to try and free it, which eventually worked. We waited to make sure they were able to leave successfully, which they finally did. Then we headed down the winding mountain road behind them–the last car off the mountain.

About a third of the way down, the Jetta hit a steep, icy patch and started spinning around, until it was facing uphill. I was too close for comfort on this steep road; when I hit the same icy patch, I found I couldn’t effectively stop the all-wheel drive Pontiac Aztek I was driving and I went into a controlled slide guided by my ABS brakes, which enabled me to pass the Jetta on the left side of the road without hitting it. I was lucky; the Jetta driver was lucky. We both made winter driving mistakes and lived to tell about it. If I hadn’t had ABS brakes, the rangers might have had to haul our broken cars and bodies several thousand feet up the steep, snow-covered mountainside.

Tall, thin conifers designed by nature to carry little snow (a tree with more spreading limbs would have to bear a tremendously heavy burden of western Washington wet snow).

But enough of potential tragedy. The outing was otherwise terrific. Karen and I finally got in a winter snowshoe trip after several winters of medical problems, including my broken ankle of 2008. Fresh snow fell as we walked, drifting over the subalpine patches of firs, spruces, and Whitebark Pines. There were other cross-country skiers, snowshoers, and walkers out on this beautiful day, but not many. More people were using the downhill ski area, which is an old-fashioned facility with two rope tows. Snowshoes and both kinds of skis are available for daily rentals at the Hurricane Ridge Visitor Center.

Karen Rentz snowshoeing while snow fell steadily.

I was primarily interested in winter high country photography, so I brought my camera with two zoom lenses and a tele-extender. For just about the first time ever on a mountain trip, I carried no tripod. I wanted to see if I would miss the stable support that I found so important for film photography. I didn’t. Digital photography with image stabilized lenses allows me to work fast and loose at high ISO settings and get remarkably good results. For the future I suspect that the only times I will really need a tripod are for night and macro photography, and for photographing birds for a long period with a very long lens. I am drawn to create graphically clean photographs with no extraneous busyness. Hurricane Ridge was perfect for that approach, with its scattered patches of conifers and clean white snow-covered meadows.

Common Raven pretending to be Darth Vader.

Even the birds cooperated for my photography. Gray Jays and Common Ravens are notorious beggars, so they are not afraid of people and I was able to use my camera at close range. Just don’t tell the National Park Service that I fed the Gray Jays bits of a Toffee Chocolate Chip Power Bar (my emergency food) from my hand. I swear I could hear them sighing with contentment from full bellies.

Actually, the behavior of the ravens and jays around humans is nothing new. Both species are scavengers that feed around the leavings of animals killed by bears, and both species undoubtedly hung around tribal villages because they knew that humans don’t necessarily eat every scrap of food.  Native Americans of this region celebrated ravens, using the figure as a symbol in totem poles and other artistic forms of expression and identity. 

Gray Jay hoping for a handout.

Gray Jay checking out the colorfully-clothed big mammal.

During the winter the Hurricane Ridge Road is usually open only three days a week, because it is such a big and expensive responsibility for the National Park Service to keep the road plowed.  We saw two huge vehicles parked near the road, waiting for the next big snowfall.  These weren’t the normal plows that many of us are accustomed to; instead, they are giant snowblowers designed to throw the snow over the road shoulder and down the mountainside.  The little boy in me would love to see these machines in operation.  By the way, all vehicles are required to carry tire chains on this road during the winter.  For more information about Olympic National Park in winter go to:  http://www.nps.gov/olym/

Common Raven on a an old snag.

 

Karen Rentz doing an exercise suggested by the sign.

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website

Click on the photographs below to see them in a larger size, with captions.

February 19, 2008: Birds at Our Olympic Peninsula Home

This is my season for bird photography at home.  When the winter rains stop and the lighting gets good, I often set up my 500mm lens with 1.4x extender, and concentrate on the subjects at hand.  Karen and I live on a small Olympic Peninsula lake, so there are also opportunities to photograph ducks and other water birds.  These are my favorite bird photographs so far this year. 

Chestnut-backed Chickadee

Hooded Merganser male with female and juvenile male

Purple Finch male

Purple Finch female

Merlin stretching

Chestnut-backed Chickadee

Black-capped Chickadee

Bufflehead female and male

Dark-eyed Junco

Merlin scratching an itch

Purple Finch male

Double-crested Cormorant juvenile drying its wings

Black-capped Chickadee

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com

NEW: To see thousands of my photographs in large file sizes for use in magazines or other printed materials or electronic media, go to my PhotoShelter Website