IRON GOAT TRAIL: Site of the Great Wellington Train Disaster

The Iron Goat Trail leads through the magnificent ruin of an all-concrete snow shed along the now-abandoned high route over Stevens Pass (now replaced with a lower route, less prone to avalanches, over the same pass)

“I was journeying to Seattle from Spokane, planning to visit my sister who lives on an island in Puget Sound. It was nippy when we left Spokane, but the cold was bitter when we reached the Cascade Mountains. As we climbed toward Stevens Pass, the snow was falling steadily, and at the pass it was accumulating on the tracks too fast for the rotary snowplows to keep up. We got to the Cascade Tunnel, and were safe from the falling snow inside the tunnel, but when we emerged on the other side at the little town of Wellington, it was a full-fledged blizzard and the conductor said that we were going to have to wait for the snow to subside before the train could leave the station. We stayed warm enough in the train while we waited for an endless two days. There was enough food, but the snow kept falling. Some of us thought it might be safer if the train could back into the tunnel, but the conductor said that we could be poisoned from the train’s smoke, so the train remained stopped outside. 

Finally, the snow stopped late in the day on February 28. Later that night we awoke to a rare winter storm with thunder and lightning. The temperature was suddenly a great deal warmer. I was sleepy, but I could tell that something wasn’t right because there was a loud roar outside. Then a wall of snow hit us hard, and pushed the whole train off the tracks and down the mountain. It was as horrid as can be; passengers were screaming and flying through the air and slamming into walls and the ceiling as the train tumbled down. I hit my head and passed out, so I didn’t even realize that the broken passenger car was now covered by snow. Two hours later, I was pulled from the wreckage by three men; I was colder than I have ever been, but the men said I was lucky just to be alive.”

From the journal of  Lucy Annabelle Wiggins 

(a Victorian lady, born in England, emigrated to America in 1893, and real only in the author’s imagination)

Interior of the Windy Point Tunnel

The Great Northern Railway tried to make first the Stevens Pass route over the Cascades work well, they really did, but the mountains of Washington are prone to tremendous snowfalls followed by rain. When the rain saturates the accumulated snow, the cold, wet mass gets too heavy for the slope, and an avalanche is possible.

On the night of March 1, 1910, 96 people in two trains died in the Wellington Avalanche, which was triggered when lightning hit a snowy slope high above Wellington. Most of the bodies were not recovered until snowmelt the following July. Only 23 passengers survived, in the greatest natural disaster ever to hit Washington State in historic times and among the worst train disasters in America.

After the disaster, the Great Northern decided that they needed more snow sheds along the route. Snow sheds over the tracks provide a way for avalanches to pass right over the tracks without hitting the train. They even built a high-tech (for the era) all-concrete snow shed that was nearly half-a-mile long. With all the snow sheds and tunnels on this route, travel became safer, but the entire route was abandoned in 1929 upon completion of the 7.8 mile long Second Cascade Tunnel down along the river.

Trees have now grown up along the old roadbed of the Great Northern; this section of track was abandoned in 1929

Time wore on. Timbers rotted in the wooden snow sheds and roofs collapsed. Douglas Firs and Western Hemlocks and Grand Firs grew up along the old roadbed. Rockfalls and avalanches covered the old route with debris. The village of Wellington, later renamed Tye to avoid association with the avalanche, burned down after being abandoned by the railroad. Traces of the old forest fire and clearcut above Wellington–which had contributed to the deadly avalanche–gradually absorbed back into the forest. Souvenir hunters made off with artifacts. The place was quiet, haunted by the terrible event of 1910.

Avalanches still regularly occur here; this is the remnant of a small avalanche, one of several we saw on our hike

This collapsed wooden snow shed, hardly recognizable as such, is extremely dangerous to walk on

Then, in the 1980s, the Volunteers for Outdoor Washington, working with the U.S. Forest Service and other organizations, began work to create a trail along this route. The Iron Goat Trail, named for the iconic Mountain Goat logo of the old Great Northern Railway, is now among the best historic trails in Washington State. As a railroad buff since I was three years old, I was thrilled to hike this trail and see the old roadbed, tunnel portals, and snow sheds. There were even a couple of remnant avalanches still melting out along the route to remind us of the terror that still lurks along these slopes during the long, snowy winter.

The Windy Point Tunnel opened in 1914

The following photographs are a gallery of the ruin of the all-concrete snow shed, which was truly an amazing architectural accomplishment and which is now an exquisite ruin

One end of the all-concrete snow shed is deteriorating; note the heavy rebar used for reinforcing concrete a century ago

A replica of an original milepost of the Great Northern Railway, showing the number of miles from where the railroad originated in St. Paul, Minnesota

These old stone steps are among the very few artifacts still left in the railroad town of Wellington

Portal for the First Cascade Tunnel, near the town site of Wellington; the tunnel is now closed to hikers because of dangers of collapse

Inside the Windy Point Tunnel looking east, with two humans for scale

Bears also enjoy this trail; here a Black Bear has used claws and teeth to scrape nutrient-laden tissue from the inner bark of a fir tree

An old Great Northern Caboose is on display at the Iron Goat Interpretive Site

This is the best logo ever designed!

For more information about access and history, go to the following web sites:

Iron Goat Trail (Volunteers for Outdoor Washington)

Walk into the Past (Seattle Times article)

Train Disaster Kills 96 (HistoryLink Site)

Iron Goat Trail 1074 Scenic (U.S. Forest Service information about trail)

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com (just ask if you see a particular photograph you like; my website is not up to date) 

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

COLUMBIA RIVER GORGE: Eagle Creek Trail to Punchbowl Falls

Punchbowl Falls, with clear mountain water in deep pools below the falls

“Gray skies, smiling at me …” 

Irving Berlin certainly didn’t pen these lyrics; his song was all about transforming gray skies and gray moods into blue skies.  But to a photographer in the temperate rain forests of the USA’s Pacific Northwest, gray skies bring the dark forests to visual life, eliminating the harsh contrast of sun and shade that can wash out the highlights of a landscape and deepen the shadows. Clouds fill in the shadows and tone down the bright spots, lending visual harmony.

With a favorable forecast of gray skies and little rain, we set our alarm for 4:30 a.m. for the July 1 drive from Puget Sound to the Columbia River Gorge, located east of Portland, Oregon. Coffee and Egg McMuffins got us to the trailhead by 9:00 a.m.; a bit later and we would have had to park half-a-mile from the trailhead–oh, the horror of having to walk more than absolutely necessary!

The Eagle Creek Trail was created about a century ago. At that time, the Columbia River Highway was being built to link eastern and western Oregon, and to provide newly driving tourists access to some of the sweetest waterfalls found anywhere. The (now) Historic Columbia River Highway was built to be a beautiful and scenic route; with gentle curves and graceful concrete railings, it is among the most beautiful roads ever built. Much of it was later abandoned when the more efficient (meaning faster) water level route was built through the Columbia River Gorge, and I can testify that I-84, as the new route is known, is efficient at getting us to trailheads in a timely manner, albeit with far less grace than the old curving road. There are still some drivable sections of the old highway, and other sections have become walking and biking trails.

Trail blasted into basalt a century ago; note the cable along the cliff for gripping during bad weather

Like the road, the Eagle Creek Trail was built to exacting and graceful standards. Our hike took us two miles to Punchbowl Falls, winding along cliffs and ascending some 400 vertical feet. To make the trail accessible to the urban hikers of a century ago, the trail’s planners and builders blasted part of the route from basalt cliffs. Mosses and ferns and trees now cover the scars of the blasting, making it appear as if the trail had always been there. In at least one part of the cliff-hugging trail, there is a cable along the cliff to hang onto when conditions get icy and dicey, as they frequently do in the winter months. On our hike, however, the weather was Goldilocks-perfect for a hike: not too cold in the canyon and not too hot while hiking. Just right!

The trail winds through forests of old conifers and maples, with plenty of dripping moss hanging from the sprawling branches of Vine Maples.  Then, in drier habitats, the hike passes through miniature oak savannahs of the sort we have seen in northern California, with grass and sun-loving wildflowers beneath the oaks.

Looking downstream from near the top of the falls, where Eagle Creek scours a gorge

The hike has its own sound track, so iPods are not needed. Waterfalls roar with continuous thunder, while feeder creeks add a tinkling melody. In the trees, Hermit Thrushes sing the avian heart-tugging equivalent of Barber’s Adagio for Strings, while Pacific Wrens continually perfect their too-long-and-complex-for-AM-radio songs. Conversations of delighted waterfall-watching families add to the feeling of being in a place that has been special to generations of Oregonians.

Upon reaching the Punchbowl Falls overlook, we were disappointed that so much vegetation has grown up that the falls are largely obscured (hey Forest Service: you’re supposed to be the experts at cutting trees … get with the program and do some selective trimming!). I crept down a precarious path leading to the top of the falls and got an unobstructed view downstream into the canyon below the falls, and was able to see much of the plunge pool formed by the waterfall–which gives Punchbowl Falls its name.

Classic view of Punchbowl Falls; visitors have arranged rocks to make a small jetty so that people can go out into the stream for this view

After a two mile hike to the falls with its owner, this retriever wisely chose to cool off by immediately plopping into the cold creek

Then we backtracked to the side trail leading to Lower Punchbowl Falls, and here found the classic and unobstructed view of Punchbowl Falls. I tugged on waders and fly-fishing boots and proceeded to take the split underwater and above water photographs you see here. We spent a long time on the gravel beach here, luxuriating in one of those Garden of Eden places where nature has outdone herself.

River rocks line the bottom of Eagle Creek; the first time I saw a photograph of this falls, some 40+ years ago, the photo showed a fly fisherman working the plunge pool below the falls

A lovely flower of the oak openings variously known as Herald of Summer or Farewell to Spring; the genus name is Clarkia

Seep Monkey Flower thrives in wet soils found near springs and seeps along the trail

Aleutian Maidenhair Fern thrives along the dark, moist cliffs of Eagle Creek

Water drips onto the stream surface from cliffs high above; Lady Fern and Aleutian Maidenhair love the moist, dark habitat along the cliffs

Diamond Fairyfan, another species of Clarkia, blooms along the Eagle Creek Trail

Green reflections in a very green place

Downstream edge of the plunge pool below Punchbowl Falls

Split view of the rocky stream bottom and Punchbowl Falls

Trail Notes:

Check the Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area website for current information about rules, regulations, and fees.

Gorge trailheads are frequent locations of vehicle break-ins by gangs and other assorted thugs. One photographer I know had his van emptied of $10,000 in photo equipment in a few minutes; I also heard from family about a young couple visiting from out-of-state who had their rental car broken into. Be forewarned not to leave anything of value in the car.

Weather conditions here are variable; have layers of clothing and sturdy hiking shoes.

For more information:

Columbia River Gorge National Scenic Area

Historic Columbia River Highway

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com (just ask if you see a particular photograph you like; my website is not up to date) 

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

CHANNEL ISLANDS NATIONAL PARK: Exploring Santa Cruz Island

Island Foxes greet each other with obvious affection; seeing these foxes was the highlight of our journey to Santa Cruz Island

En route to Santa Cruz Island, the boat’s captain steered us off course, so we could see dolphins porpoising (or is it porpoises dolphining?) over the Santa Barbara Channel. Our crossing was smooth, so we were glad that we hadn’t applied the seasickness patches; they work, but make me groggy.

Dolphins viewed during our ride to Santa Cruz Island

We pulled up to Scorpion Anchorage, a protected cove with a dock, where a National Park Service Ranger greeted us and filled us in on the rules and regs. He also checked our campground reservations.

Visitors arriving on the Island Packers boat from Ventura; from here we carried our packs and other gear about a half a mile to the campground.

Then we gathered our gear and began the scant half-mile trudge to our campsite, which proved to be a lovely spot under huge old eucalyptus trees that were planted in the early days of Scorpion Ranch. There was a picnic table and a pair of food lockers, one at each end of the table, to ensure that campers’ food was kept away from the inquisitive and daring little Island Foxes that trot through the campground with regularity, as well as the startlingly intelligent Common Ravens that know we are a source of food.

Campsites are located in a eucalyptus grove

After setting up our tent, we followed a trail up Scorpion Creek, then went off trail into Scorpion Canyon, in hopes of seeing the Island Scrub-Jay among the oaks that thrive in that canyon. Skirting pools of standing water, we walked and scrambled up the rocky, narrow reaches of the canyon. It was lovely, with red rocks and intricately branched oaks. There were lizards and small birds and species of plants that we had never seen before. There were even a couple of small rock overhangs, one of which had clear evidence of early humans. With the pile of chert and abalone shells out front, we could imagine a Chumash Indian crouching there, eating a meal and waiting for night to steal away the day, revealing a stunning spread of the Milky Way overhead.

Wild and beautiful Scorpion Canyon is the the best place to see the Island Scrub-Jay when coming to Scorpion Anchorage, though it is a rough hike over the boulder-strewn creek bed

Then we heard it … a clear call of a jay. In the oaks across the canyon, higher on the dry slope, there was a big, blue Island Scrub-Jay foraging in the branches of an oak. This species lives nowhere else on earth, so all the bird listers from across North America have to make a similar pilgrimmage into this remote canyon in order to add the species to their life list.

Island Scrub-Jay–a species found nowhere else on earth. This species is substantially larger than its nearest relatives on the mainland, and makes its living feeding mainly on Island Live Oak acorns.

After the jay moved on, so did we. The day was getting late, so we had to figure out how to get out of the canyon and back to camp before nightfall. We decided that instead of going back, we would try to climb out of the canyon by going due north up the steep side of the canyon. It was a huff-and-puff climb and scramble, but eventually we emerged onto a stunning, grassy plateau, where we followed an old ranch road toward Potato Harbor. As we gazed down toward the crashing sea below, Karen spotted an Island Fox trotting through the grassland. This was incredibly exciting for us, since we had hoped to see a fox but thought the chances were remote. Little did we know that, since their population recovered from near extinction, the little foxes are again thriving and don’t seem to mind being seen by humans. They are certainly not tame, but they are not especially afraid of us, either.

Island Fox fitted with radio collar to help scientists monitor the population

Island Foxes are about a quarter the size of their closest mainland relatives, and saw their populations plunge from above 2,000 in the 1990s to below 100 about seven years later, due to a complex series of events set in motion by mankind. I will fully explain this chain of events in a coming weblog.

We watched a second fox hunting in this area above Potato Harbor, and this one had on a radio collar that was recording its every move, so that scientist could monitor the recovering fox population.

The high and lonely headlands above Potato Harbor

Is it just me, or does this formation above Potato Harbor look like a warning that Indiana Jones would have disregarded?

With darkness coming fast, we switched on our headlamps and followed the old Potato Harbor Road back toward the campground. As the road led steeply down off the plateau, we crossed some extensive patches of bare, white earth. These were different from most of the soils of the island, and they turned out to be diatomaceous earth, which is composed of billions of silicon skeletons of algae that once lived in the sea.

Heading back to camp by headlamp

We reached the campground well after dark. While walking through the campground, Karen caught the gleam in a fox’s eye as it stood atop a picnic table, foraging on food left on the table by some campers who had turned their backs and were rummaging in their tent. Another coup for the wily fox!

That night, the stars splayed magnificently across the sky as we prepared a backpacking dinner with the hiss of the MSR stove and the stabbing rays of our headlamps. Deeply tired, we sank into pleasant sleep.

The next morning, we awoke to beautiful sunshine on the grassy hills rising across Scorpion Creek from our campsite. We spent a couple of pleasant hours exploring the Scorpion Ranch buildings and immersing our minds in the lives of those who spent generations here, growing grapes, raising hay, tending sheep, maintaining roads, and all the other tasks of a large-scale rancher. The National Park Service has maintained the ranch buildings beautifully, and repurposed one of them for use as a visitor center. This is the area where people coming off the boat for the day generally have lunch, and there are plenty of big lockers to keep food from the foxes while people are taking a short hike or exploring the ranch buildings.

Golden hills and cirrus clouds in morning light near the campground

Old ranch buildings and blooms of bougainvillea at Scorpion Ranch

This was a beautiful, but sometimes lonely, place to live and raise sheep

The walkway into the building now repurposed as a National Park Service visitor center is paved with tumbled and polished beach stones

Old ranch building with a huge circular saw blade

At Scorpion Ranch there is a lot of old and rusting ranch and road-building machinery; this photograph shows the fanciful logo of an old Caterpillar bulldozer

Canned goods inside the old kitchen, now part of the visitor center at Scorpion Anchorage

Interior detail of an old blacksmith shop at Scorpion Ranch

We stopped and photographed an Island Fox in the bright sunshine as it foraged among the tall grasses of the hillside. Then we walked down to the pier to see what tide pool creatures we could see, and were rewarded with the sight of a colony of bright purple sea urchins. There was also a crab that was bigger than we expected to see–about a foot across. We got glimpses of it through the kelp that waved back and forth. There were fish about a foot long, and we looked for large, bright orange Garibaldi (California’s state marine fish), but didn’t see any.

An impressionist view through surging waves of Purple Sea Urchins, which are collected for their edible roe by divers in the vicinity of the Channel Islands

We decided to do another hike up Scopion Canyon, to see if we could get a closer look (and photograph) of an Island Scrub Jay. We enjoyed good looks at Pacific Chorus Frogs and their tadpoles. We also saw a new bird species for our life list–the Rufous-Crowned Sparrow. We eventually saw a jay, but it kept its distance.

Side-blotched Lizard in Scorpion Canyon

Pacific Chorus Frog in a stagnant pool in otherwise dry (that day) Scorpion Creek

Rock shelter used by Chumash Indians, perhaps over thousands of years during their occupation of the island

Again, we climbed out of the canyon onto the plateau. This time, as we looked down the length of Santa Cruz Island where the steel gray Pacific met the land, there were thick gray layers of clouds, with watercolor washes of rain falling on the distant hills. We decided to head quickly back to camp.

High grasslands in the area above Scorpion Canyon and Potato Harbor

Headlands above the Pacific Ocean between Potato Harbor and Cavern Point

That night, the heavens opened up, with hard rain all night. We stayed dry in a new tent, but other campers weren’t so lucky. Two young men were sitting glumly at their picnic table early the next morning; when I asked them if they got wet, they grumbled that they were soaked, because water came up through the bottom of their tent. Later, I watched them pouring GALLONS of water from the tent as they packed up. I asked a lady ranger how much rain had fallen overnight, and she said there was about 1.6.” That’s roughly 10% of the yearly annual rainfall here. There were puddles in the road, but the plants looked as fresh and happy as the wet campers looked wet and dejected.

Blue tarp campers–more commonly seen in the Pacific Northwest, where we live, than in southern California

In the unsettled weather, we decided to hike the dirt road to Smugglers Cove, where there was another old ranch. The road surface was slick from the overnight rain, and our hiking boot treads caked uncomfortably with heavy, squishy mud. Once atop the plateau, the views across the open grasslands toward the sea and the distant mainland were stupendous. We stopped for a break in a grove of Monterey Cypress, then continued on to the ranch. Descending the steep hill to the ranch, we walked past an old grove of olive trees, planted when the owners long ago decided to get into the olive business.

Scorpion Anchorage viewed from the Smugglers Cove Road

Monterey Cypress grove along the Smugglers Cove Road, with a view to Anacapa Island

An evocative view along an old fence line intersecting Smugglers Cove Road, with the grand Pacific Ocean distant

An olive orchard was part of the Smugglers Cove ranch operation

As we approached the ranch from the cobble beach, four foxes that had been foraging in the meadow scattered into the adjacent brush. The ranch still had plantings of bougainvillea, which was bright with magenta blooms. We took shelter under the eaves of a building next to the ranch house during a hard shower; and I took the opportunity to pick a couple of oranges for us from a tree. As northern people, we had never before had the opportunity to pick oranges fresh from a tree [In contrast: when I was displaying my photography at an art show in San Francisco several years ago, one woman said my photograph of apples hanging on a tree in late autumn, and she said she had never seen an apple tree!]. There was also a nearby lemon tree, very pretty, but we decided that these fruits were impossible to eat fresh from the tree.

After leaving the ranch and heading back up on the plateau, we took a spur road that led up to an abandoned oil well, where I stopped to photograph the

Rusty surface of a steel shed at the old and abandoned oil well

old machinery. Then we descended steeply into the valley of Scorpion Creek. In the valley, Karen suddenly stopped and said that a Loggerhead Shrike had just dived into a bush about four feet away from her. I got out my long lens and was able to get great photographs of the shrike when it emerged and perched atop the same bush, perhaps eight feet from us. It lingered a long time, enabling me to get dozens of photographs at this unexpectedly close range. This gave me a sense of part of what the National Park Service means when they call the Channel Islands the “Galapagos of North America.” The wildlife is abundant, different from the mainland, and not very afraid of people.

Loggerhead Shrike in lower Scorpion Canyon; a subspecies endemic to the Channel Islands that is relatively rare

Mourning Dove on an old fence

We walked back along the trail along Scorpion Creek, which had turned from a dry creek bed with intermittent pools where frogs lived lazily with their tadpole offspring, to a raging, brown current that moved boulders, carved stone, and carried little tadpoles out to the playground of sharks. This was an excellent lesson in canyon-cutting, and we were glad we didn’t need to hike up narrow Scorpion Canyon again in order to see endemic jays. We might not have made it.

Finch foraging on a thistle near Scorpion Creek

On our next and final morning, we hiked up a trail to Cavern Point. Nearing the top, we saw a fox trotting up the trail ahead of us. Suddenly, it dashed across the meadow; I thought we had scared it, but then we saw what it was doing. It had sighted another fox across the field and was running over to see it. It was like a glorious reunion of people who have not seen each other for years. Well, maybe a bit different since there was tail-wagging (I didn’t realize that foxes could exhibit this dog-like behavior) and vigorous sniffing that looked like kissing. After a long greeting, the two foxes foraged in close proximity to each other. It was thrilling for us to be able to see such fascinating emotional behavior.

Two Island Foxes greeting each other like long-lost buddies

Island Fox hunting in a meadow; these foxes eat a lot of insects, scorpions, mice, and berries

Island Fox foraging on Santa Cruz Island near Scorpion Ranch

Then it was time to leave. We were extremely satisfied with our hikes and wildlife sightings. What a wonderful place!

Common Raven on the headlands at Cavern Point

Beautiful cliffs of Scorpion Anchorage

Patches of white diatomaceous earth–made of the silicon “skeletons” of untold billions of ancient algae that once inhabited the sea–along road leading down to the Scorpion campground

Limbs of an Island Oak along Scorpion Canyon

To get to the Channel Islands, Island Packers offers boat access to each of the islands.  Check their web site for all details and schedules. The National Park Service has excellent descriptions of Channel Islands National Park, including information about the biology and geology of the islands, and the rules for visiting. T.C. Boyle has a new novel, “When the Killing’s Done,” about the ethical implications of the National Park Service’s replacement of exotic species in the Channel Islands with native species; it’s an excellent and timely novel for anyone interested in National Park policy.

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com (Just ask if you see a particular photograph you like; my website is not up to date) 

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

CHANNEL ISLANDS NATIONAL PARK: Adventuring on Anacapa

Anacapa Island Lighthouse at dawn; the air alive with thousands of Western Gulls against the distant Santa Monica Mountains

The Beach Boys never harmonized the joy of scaling the rocky cliffs of Anacapa, yet this jagged stone island stands just 11 miles off the celebrated surf of southern California’s iconic sandy beaches. Ventura and Malibu are neighbors across the Santa Barbara Channel. Anacapa is one of five islands designated as Channel Islands National Park, which are accessible only by boat. Once visitors get to the islands, travel is by foot or by sea kayak.

Western Gull with full moon rising behind, in a forest of Giant Coreopsis

We chose to visit two of the Channel Islands in April, a month when there would be abundant wildflowers and nesting birds on the islands. Departing the harbor at Oxnard, we took a small commercial boat to Anacapa. Seasickness is one of my banes, so I chose to wear half a Scopolamine Patch in order to face the waves of the storm that had roiled the sea just prior to our arrival. Upon leaving the harbor, the Pacific Ocean greeted us with roller coaster waves, but I survived the passage with aplomb. Upon reaching the cliffs of Anacapa, the boat’s captain turned his boat around so that the stern faced the cliff and ladder, then held the idle against the dock while we unloaded. We climbed the rungs to the landing platform, then huffed up 157

steps, with all our heavy camping gear, to the top of the tableland that is East Anacapa. Then we backpacked half a mile to our campground, which consisted of seven sites and two wooden outhouses.

This is not a quiet island, at least at this time of year. The Anacapa Island Lighthouse is an active navigational aid, and its foghorn blares almost constantly when visibility is low. Even louder are the mating Western Gulls, nesting everywhere on East Anacapa since the National Park Service exterminated thousands of Norway Rats that had infested the island since the wreck of the Winfield Scott some 150 years ago. The gulls are used to people, and enjoy sitting atop picnic tables in the campsites whenever campers leave for a few minutes. Despite all the cacophony of gulls and foghorns and waves and sea lions, I slept better in my sleeping bag on Anacapa than I do at home.

View from Inspiration Point toward Middle and West Anacapa, and Santa Cruz Island

Trails lead around the island, and we explored the birds and wildflowers and cliffs with pleasure. The most unusual wildflower, the Giant Coreopsis, looks more like a small tree than a wildflower. One man told me that in good years, the island in spring has a golden glow, as viewed from his coastal home. This year the rains came at the wrong time, and fewer of the coreopsis bloomed, and most of those bloomed before we arrived, so the golden glow never materialized for us in 2012. The coreopsis is actually, at four feet high, the tallest tree on the island, and is a favorite perch for the gulls.

Two views of the Giant Coreopsis that is native to the five Channel Islands and to a small area of the mainland; this plant is also known as Tree Sunflower

At sunset and sunrise, we hiked to Inspiration Point, a cliffside perch looking toward Middle Anacapa, West Anacapa, and Santa Cruz Island. This is among the most dramatic coastal views in North America, with jagged cliffs and mountains rising from the sea for miles in the distance. The other Anacapa islets are off limits to hikers, because of nesting seabirds that could be disrupted by our presence. In fact, a good share of the western Brown Pelican population breeds on West Anacapa.

Cathedral Cove gives another dramatic view of the cliffs, but also features an overview of the kelp forests and California Sea Lion groups cavorting in the aquamarine sea. Sea kayakers love exploring this cove, and we saw several kayakers disappear into the gaping mouth of a sea cave, never to return. Actually, the apparent cave was an arch, and kayakers could travel right through it at high tide, but we couldn’t see them emerge on the other side.

Cathedral Cove’s aquamarine waters

Sea kayakers exploring the cliffs and kelp forests of Cathedral Cove

California Sea Lions hunt and play among the giant fronds of kelp

From our vantage point high above, we counted about 20 California Sea Lions lollygagging in Cathedral Cove

Sea kayakers entering a big arch at high tide among the rocks of Cathedral Cove

Geologically, the Channel Islands are a dramatic result of the slow motion collision between Planet Earth’s North America and Pacific Plates–the collision that leaves California particularly susceptible to earthquakes. During this giant meeting and grinding of the plates, the Channel Islands have rotated about 100 degrees from where they once stood. It sure would be nice to watch the Channel Islands on Google Earth over a span of say, 20 million years.

One problem with a northwesterner visiting southern California is that songs from my musically impressionable college years keep playing on an endless loop in the brain. This time the worst offender was “Ventura Highway,” a 1972 song by America with its reference to “alligator lizards in the air.” I had just about conquered my brain’s addiction to the song, when a young guy we met talked about seeing an Alligator Lizard on the trail toward the lighthouse. And off the brain goes on its never-ending musical soundtrack …

Speaking of the lighthouse:  it is still an active lighthouse and island visitors can’t go beyond a barrier to see it up close and personal. There is a warning that the foghorn can damage the ears; given that my hearing is already marginal (and the Coast Guard has guns), I decided to obey the sign.

Anacapa Island Lighthouse at twilight, with hundreds of gulls scattered across what will be their nesting grounds

An old Fresnel lens on display in the island’s visitor center

Ecologically, Anacapa is an island in recovery. The aforementioned rats and an invading army of Ice Plants, originally from South Africa and planted by a long-ago lighthouse staffer, have devastated the island. The National Park Service is waging war on these invasives, and has already completely removed the rats. Now it is working on the Ice Plants, using herbicides and volunteers to remove acres of the invading succulents. They even have a new greenhouse on the island, with staff successfully raising Giant Coreopsis, Live Forever, and other native island plants from seeds harvested on Anacapa. Volunteers are welcome to help with the efforts. In the areas of the island where the native Giant Coreopsis still created extensive pygmy forests, the diversity of wildlife and plants was greater than in areas infested with a monoculture of Ice Plants.

Western Gull resting between sessions of fighting and love making; note the beautiful but undesirable invasive Ice Plant that the gull has chosen as its bed

Undeniably beautiful flower of an exotic invasive, the Ice Plant from South Africa

During the ice age, Anacapa and the other Channel Islands were essentially one long island, when sea level was lower. At that time, Dwarf Woolly Mammoths roamed the island. That was only a little more than 10,000 years ago, a blink of the eye in time. People arrived about 6,000 years ago, and probably used the island as a place to gather seabird eggs and other foods.

Today on Anacapa Island, there are a few clustered Coast Guard buildings that the National Park Service now uses for a visitor center, staff housing, and maintenance facilities. There is no water, so we lugged about five gallons of our own water up the stairs and up the island to our campsite, where we stayed for two nights. Native Deer Mice are plentiful on the island, and we were repeatedly warned not to inhale soil contaminated with their droppings, because we could contract Hantavirus–a life-threatening disease that features symptoms similar to the flu, only more so. I only saw one mouse, and it was checking out our campsite after dark. Fortunately, the National Park Service ranger kindly provided a Rubbermaid container for our food, so the mice couldn’t get to it in camp.

We shared camp with Western Gulls, who used our sites and picnic tables as soon as we would leave

Gulls are not clean animals. A National Park Service ranger came around each day with a power washer to wash the guano off the picnic tables.

The National Park Service started installing whirligigs on the picnic tables during our visit; these rotated in the wind and were completely effective at keeping the gulls off

The moon was full on our visit, and we walked quite a bit after dark, navigating using moonlight and headlamps. Perched atop a cliff on the south side of the island at deep twilight, I suddenly heard a blood-curdling screech (it made me jump–fortunately I didn’t jump over the cliff!) and saw a ghostly presence in the sky. It turned out that Barn Owls nest on the cliffs, and I was seeing one that was unhappy that I was invading its space.

Telephoto view from the campsite of an oil pumping platform in the Santa Barbara Channel between the mainland and the Channel Islands

Bird diversity on the island was relatively low, because of the limited size and diversity of habitats. We did see Brown Pelicans, White-Crowned Sparrows, Orange-Crowned Warblers (actually, these were little green birds that mostly hide their orange crowns), and two species of cormorants. Anacapa is breeding home to various other seabirds that are highly protected by the National Park Service and thus unlikely to be seen.

Orange-Crowned Warblers foraged among the island’s plants

The Western Gulls in breeding plumage are extraordinarily beautiful, and they preen to stay that way

Love was in the air all over the island

On Anacapa we could actually use our iPhones to check email and news stories, which is kinda sad for a National Park experience, but what can I say: like almost everyone, we are addicted to the web. When we first lugged our gear up to the visitor center, there was one visitor sitting at a picnic table using her iPad, another guy using his MacBook Pro, and almost everyone checking their smartphones. Multitasking has even come to the national parks.

This is a small island, and after taking 650 photographs over two days, I was ready to go on to our next adventure, a visit to Santa Cruz Island just a few miles away.

Boardwalk along trail through a bed of Ice Plant

Some visitors moor boats close to the island for an overnight visit

View from Inspiration Point overlook toward Western Anacapa and Santa Cruz Islands

Arch Rock viewed from the water

Old U.S. Coast Guard buildings clustered at one end of the island

Another view of iconic Arch Rock

Wave rolling in off the vast Pacific Ocean, viewed from above

To get to the Channel Islands, Island Packers offers boat access to each of the islands.  Check their web site for all details and schedules. The National Park Service has excellent descriptions of Channel Islands National Park, including information about the biology and geology of the islands, and the rules for visiting. T.C. Boyle has a new novel, “When the Killing’s Done,” about the ethical implications of the National Park Service’s replacement of exotic species in the Channel Islands with native species; it’s an excellent and timely novel for anyone interested in National Park policy.

To see my web site, which includes photographic prints for sale, please go to LeeRentz.com (Just ask if you see a particular photograph you like; my website is not up to date) 

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

OLYMPIC NATIONAL PARK: Sasquatch Moss at Staircase

Usnea lichen drips from a Bigleaf Maple like the Spanish Moss of the American South, though it is completely unrelated (and Spanish Moss itself is a flowering plant related to pineapple, and has nothing to do with moss). Perhaps I should call this lichen “Sasquatch Moss!” The golden color in the background comes from autumn maple leaves, thrown out of focus by focusing on the nearby lichen. 

Autumn in the Pacific Northwest has never seemed as glorious as those Upper Peninsula or Vermont or Adirondack or Colorado autumns that I knew and loved earlier in my life. The trees don’t glow as brightly and the days don’t feel as sprightly and brisk. On the other hand–and there are always other hands with me–autumn in the northwest has its own magic of spawning salmon and dripping moss and golden Bigleaf Maples and scarlet huckleberries.

In search of the special qualities of a northwest autumn, I went hiking on four October days at Staircase, in Olympic National Park. Staircase is located on the southwestern part of the national park and, at about an hour away, is the closest access to where I live. Staircase is known for its Elk herd and for its rocky trail along the steep course of the North Fork Skokomish River, which tumbles joyfully from the Olympic Mountains. At Staircase there is a ranger station and a campground, and other routes along the river to explore.

Footbridge across Elk Creek, along the Shady Lane Trail; everything on the Olympic Peninsula eventually gets covered with moss

Alas, I don’t recall any staircases: it turns out that the area was named for the extremely steep trail that an early explorer built, and is now applied to the Staircase Rapids along the steeply pitched river.

These photographs represent those four lovely October days–a time when I desired to be nowhere else on earth.

Elk Creek winds through a forest of Bigleaf Maples near the point where it flows into the North Fork Skokomish River

A split view of the Skokomish, with the photographer in waders on a cold and colorful autumn day

Huge Bull Trout (close to 30″ long), a threatened species that migrates up the Skokomish from Lake Cushman every October to breed–much like a salmon swimming upstream

Bull Trout with fiery reflections of autumn leaves

I walked out over the Skokomish on these 3′ diameter fallen trunks, and could see skittish Bull Trout in the shadows cast by the logs

Reflections of Douglas Fir trunks and autumn Bigleaf Maples on the North Fork Skokomish River

The most vivid mushroom I’ve ever seen: a coral mushroom that goes by its scientific name of Ramaria araiospora var. rubella

I have a photograph of my mother and I standing in front of this giant cedar 20 years ago, when it was still standing; it fell a few years ago

The Usnea lichens I photographed are on this tree, with limbs hanging out over the river. For the impressionistic photos I got, with the golden background, I estimated that there were approximately four hours per year when the light would do what I wanted it to do.  I figured it out by my third day, and on my fourth day of photography, I got exactly what I wanted (represented by the first picture of this blog post and by the photos immediately below).

I have come to love a style of impressionistic photography that I have returned to often over the last few years, in which a few objects are in sharp focus against a wash of beautiful color created by distant plants (or shadows, or whatever) that are out of focus.  It lends a dreamlike feeling that works really well with an exotic subject like these strange lichens.

And here is a photograph that puts the lichens into their context, where they drip off maple branches. Usnea grows in northern regions around the world, and is noted for its sensitivity to air pollution–it dies even where pollution levels are relatively low (Olympic National Park has some of the cleanest air in America, so the lichen can grow long and prosper). For more information about Usnea, go to Usnea Lichen.

Sun catches ripples on the North Fork Skokomish, with scattered Bigleaf Maple leaves on the river bottom

A springboard notch, where loggers once inserted a board into the tree trunk so they could saw the tree at an appropriate height using an old-fashioned hand-powered, two-man “misery whip”

Moss forms over Bigleaf Maple roots exposed by the scouring action of Elk Creek

And a final look at the lovely river and its autumn maples

For further information about visiting Staircase, go to Staircase in Olympic National Park. This is important, as the road is closed to vehicle traffic during the winter.

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

PACIFIC CREST TRAIL THRU-HIKERS: Drop Dead, Hercules, and Bookworm

Drop Dead wearing a necktie in case he needs it for a job interview along the Pacific Crest Trail

“Drop Dead,” the trail name of a hiker looking dapper in a Panama hat and necktie, greeted us with a friendly smile and enthusiastic responses to all our questions. First, as to why a Pacific Crest Trail thru-hiker would be wearing a necktie:

“I was laid off in April, and you never know when you need to be prepared for a job interview.”

Good point. If I was hiring, Drop Dead would be a top choice. After all, this fit and energetic man in his mid-30s shows remarkable persistance; he has hiked nearly 2,300 miles at this point, where we met him in Washington State’s Goat Rocks Wilderness, averaging 30 to 35 miles per day. He has met and defeated the challenges of desert hiking and traveling through mile after mile of snowy wilderness. His creativity in looking neat and businesslike (far better than me after three days hiking!) after all those miles speaks to his ability to dress for success. Though he might have to work on that name …

Looking a bit sheepish, Drop Dead said his name came from the expression “drop dead gorgeous.” I’ll let the ladies be the judge, but with his red beard, partly done up in front with a thin braid, my guess is he would be a hippie girl’s heartthrob. Without the beard, he might be a boardroom lady executive’s passion.

The loneliness of the long-distance hiker

We asked Drop Dead about his diet; it turns out that he is a vegetarian, which is confirmation enough for me that a vegetarian can be in supremely good health. For breakfast, he eats uncooked quick oatmeal combined with dried fruit and dried milk. By not cooking in the morning, he can get on the trail fast, though I’m not sure the quick oatmeal would do much for me. At noon, he heats ramen mixed with peanut butter and chili paste to create a kind of low rent version of Pad Thai, using a tiny alcohol stove. He also supplements his diet with olive oil, and he was glad to accept a bit of chocolate and cheese from us.

We eventually ended our eager questioning, allowing Drop Dead to continue his hike north toward the Canadian border. I hope he gets just the right job interview along the way …

A rock cairn echoes the shape of Mount Adams, one of Washington State’s dramatic stratovolcanos

This stretch of the Pacific Crest Trail is high and beautiful; in fact, the spot where we met Drop Dead is within a mile of the highest point along the Washington State stretch of the PCT. Thru-hikers (those hiking the whole trail in one year) begin in early spring near the Mexican village of Campo, and finish in September or October at the Canadian border, in Manning Provincial Park. 2,650 miles long, the trail is a test of physical and psychological endurance.

Some 400 people started the trail this year, a higher number than the typical 300, largely because a lot of people are out of work because of the endless recession. When a person is out of work, and with poor prospects, why not take to the trail and pursue a long-repressed dream?

The Pacific Crest Trail travels the mountain ranges of California, Oregon, and Washington as it makes its run from the Mexican border to the Canadian border

This year, the trail turned into a real test of fortitude and guts. The High Sierra received tremendous amounts of snow last winter. So, after the hikers had endured the heat of the Mojave Desert, they ascended into the deep snows of Yosemite, Kings Canyon, and Sequoia National Parks. Progress was exceedingly slow along the icy trail, and stream crossings with torrents of meltwaters were slippery and frigid hazards. Many hikers decided that this was not the year to complete their dream. Hikers also have to deal with forest fires and washouts along the way. We found it fascinating that many hikers carried umbrellas in their packs for rainy days; this would enable them to hike in lighter clothes and see better in the rain (most of us hikers wear Gore-Tex for rainy days, which can get uncomfortable inside during vigorous activity) than they could while wearing a hooded parka.

During our four sunny days in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, we encountered about ten thru-hikers, and chatted at some length with several.

Hercules was an energetic young man, wired with an iPod, with a big name to live up to. He did. Another hiker, Steady, told us that Hercules had hiked 62 miles in 24 hours in Oregon. It seems that Hercules was about out of food, and the lure of a good meal at Timberline Lodge was strong. When he got to the lodge, he consumed three enormous platefuls of great food! Hercules actually took his name on the first day of the hike, when a woman driving him to the trailhead suggested he needed a powerful name appropriate to his ancestry. Hence Hercules.

The Goat Rocks, dramatic in evening light, are the remains of a volcano that blew its top some two million years ago

Steady was an older hiker, from Cool, California (isn’t everything in California cool?), roughly my age, who averaged “just” a steady 20 miles per day. He was being accompanied through Washington by another grizzled friend, a man from Alpena, Michigan.

Bookworm, a thru-hiker from Maryland, had started with 50 lbs. of food and gear, but had whittled that down to about 30 at this point. His body weight had also been whittled down by over 20 lbs. Why “Bookworm?” Because he carried a Kindle for reading books. I asked him when he could possibly have time to read, and he said that he was able to read while preparing meals and a little bit before falling off to sleep. He was averaging one book per 100 miles, so at this point he had completed over 20 books. Bookworm also remarked that he was on his third pair of hiking boots, and that he now ate only cold food to avoid the weight of a stove and fuel.

Bookworm, looking thin and fit after months on the trail

Other hikers we met included Top Shelf, Picker, Slapshot, and Caddyshack, all of whom were strong and fast twenty-somethings. There was only one thru-hiker who hadn’t taken a trail name.

I will now raise a lightweight plastic cup of cold instant coffee to toast these Americans following their dreams. Hear, hear!

The dramatic terrain where the PCT winds through the Goat Rocks Wilderness

Lovely meadows of lupine, with Mount Adams in the distance, at Snowgrass Flats, just below the PCT in the Goat Rocks Wilderness

For information about the Pacific Crest Trail, a good starting place is the Pacific Crest Trail Association. Some of the hikers write blogs; you can find an index to some of these at PCT Journals. An even better source is Trail Journals, where one of the guys we met posted his observations of the Goat Rocks Wilderness (he loved it!), and scores of hikers blog about hiking the PCT this year.

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

OLYMPIC NATIONAL PARK: Crab Chaos and Human Creativity

The coil

Nature is rarely orderly and tidy–and to a naturalist, that is part of its charm. On the other hand, an artist can sometimes use natural materials to bring order to that chaos, with marvelous results.

As we walked down sandy Shi Shi Beach among the beached seaweed, swarming sand fleas, a dead and stinking sea lion, and a zillion crab carcasses, two National Park Service rangers greeted us.

Crab parts on the Shi Shi Beach, with the dramatic sea stacks of Point of Arches in the distance

One said “Everyone is asking about all the crabs along the beach. They aren’t actually dead bodies; they are the molted shells of crabs that have outgrown their old bodies and discarded them.”

Dungeness Crab parts rolling in and out with the waves 

So it wasn’t mass suicide or a toxic oil spill or global warming that killed a million crabs. In fact, it was just an ordinary yearly molt that we were privileged to see, and the crabs of the deep were still alive and enjoying a growth spurt as they muscled their way out of their old exoskeletons and ate their way into new and larger clothes. Meanwhile, the discarded crab parts moved gently in and out with the waves in a spectacular jumble that left every beach visitor wondering–until they learned the truth,

I had thought about putting a few of these crab carapaces into an arrangement to photograph, but someone with grander ambitions and more time beat me to the punch. On our way back up the beach, we encountered a spiral of crab backs (known as “carapaces”) that looked at first like a giant ship’s rope that someone had neatly coiled. When I walked up to it, I stared in utter amazement and surprise at the fleeting work of art that someone had created. Executed with technical perfection and a fine artistic vision, the crab spiral celebrated nature, yet it did so within the very human needs for order and art. Line, texture, and repetition of forms were among the artistic elements employed. The crab spiral was an ephemeral masterpiece by an unknown artist!

The crab spiral as we found it, left by an unknown artist

Detail of the arrangement of crab carapaces

It would have taken the artist hours and hours of exacting work to create this ephemeral work; notice how uniform the crab backs are in size and shape

The setting, with Point of Arches distant

Karen Rentz repeated this backpacking trip two weeks later, and found that the Crab Spiral was no more. High tides had claimed it. Nature’s love of chaos beat back the human need for order, but I got the photographs that illustrate what the human imagination is capable of, even on a remote wilderness beach.

For those interested in the intersection of nature and art, the acknowledged master is artist Andy Goldsworthy. You can see an excellent selection of his work at Andy Goldsworthy.

With the careful placement of these barnacles growing naturally on a molted crab shell, nature looks to be playing the trickster!

Shi Shi Beach is a wilderness beach within Olympic National Park. It stretches over two miles in a gentle, sandy crescent, ending at the dramatic rocky sea stacks and arches of Point of Arches. We backpacked along the beach, and on this Fourth of July weekend we guess that there were 60 tents sharing the beach and the adjacent forest. Hikers need to be aware of the tides, which can have an amplitude of over ten feet and can affect hiking and tide pool exploration schedules at Point of Arches. Hard-sided food containers are required for backpackers (to keep away marauding Raccoons), as is a wilderness permit from the National Park Service and a recreational permit from the Makah Indian Reservation. Parking for backpackers is $10 per day at a private residence near the trailhead.For more information about Shi Shi Beach and Point of Arches, go to Olympic National Park: Shi Shi Beach.

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