WEEK 4: Olympic Peninsula!

This entire trip consumed me with an eery and unexpected nostalgia– my senior year of high school my AP environmental science class went on a field trip to nature bridge to study the Elwha dam removal project, and I had visited Salt Creek three times for an annual cross country meet with my school's team. This personal nostalgia only added to the kind of cosmic nostalgia that is instinctive for any human being who finds themselves in a place like this. I vividly remember the first time I visited this old growth forest, the first time I saw what a Douglas Fir or a Red Cedar could look like if allowed a space to exist apart from the poisonous touch of man. I'm so glad I had the chance to see them again– so large as to defy belief, towering into infinity and impossibly thick with the wisdom that comes from age. I can't help but think of the trees in my front yard, those of the same species that I climbed and loved as a child, whose size inspired my imagination for as long as I can remember– I can't help but think about how those babies would cower before these elders, begging for mercy.

This place is magical. There's no other word for it in my vocabulary. The enormous Big Leaf Maples, caked in regal fur cloaks of dark green moss, Licorice Ferns and spectacular Dragon Skin Lichen look like something straight out of Miyazaki's "Princess Mononoke." The towering Red Alder trees are the comic relief characters of the old growth– they apparently get no less skinny with age and end up looking like that 6 foot 8 white dude at the party who keeps knocking in to things like he doesn't have a clue how tall he is. We also saw an enormous Grand Fir, distinct in the configuration of it's needles which alternate between small and large. I was told that it's the largest of it's kind in the area.

But big trees are just one ingredient of the old growth, what's really magical about the place is the honest diversity. It's the ancient coexisting in the same space as the brand new, it's the constant, endless micro narratives that are taking place among the flora and fauna. I saw a baby Cedar, barely 15 feet tall, growing up against a massive Doug Fir, it hurt me a bit to know that it was drastically losing the competition for water and light and it didn't have much longer to live. So young... Perpetuating the Mononoke feel is the fact that the extremely dense (but uneven) canopy leaves the forest floor far less dense than that of the second growth I'm used to in the cascades– so one can see very far in every direction (almost like the deciduous forests of Massachusetts.) Right after we started our harrowing ascent of Mt. Stormking, we saw a large female Black Tailed Deer off in the distance, far enough away that one needed binoculars to see properly.

We saw all kinds of stuff, some a lot more interesting than others. Joe, who was leading our group with the unbelievably hilarious mantra "Neature is Neat! quizzed us as he pointed out Dull Oregon Grape, Salal, Artist's Conk (I knew that one), Red Huckleberry, and a bunch of other things that are equally boring (am I allowed to say that?) Some highlights were the budding Devil's Club that looked like something out of a science fiction nightmare, covered in huge spines and curled leaves emerging from the end of 6 foot tall, thick green stems. I also always love Madrone trees with their beautiful skin condition– their enormous crimson dandruff flakes that reveal perfectly smooth light brown wood. They were thriving on the drier West side of the already very steep hill, which retains little water as is. The hike was way harder than advertised, and somehow I got sucked into the leading pack. By the time we got to the top I looked like a self conscious fat kid at a water park with my shirt soaking wet, but the view was worth it. The trees We saw a really interesting new shrub, that I did an illustration of: the Hairy Manzanita. It was like a miniature Madrone with crimson bark and spastic curling branches. There were birds up there too, we saw a Grey Jay, a Stellar Jay, and what Jorge later refused to believe was a Golden Eagle. We stayed on top for a while, long enough to observe the weather patterns– dense fog rolled in from the South West, and, right after I made a comment about how lucky we were that it was dry, it of course began pouring. I forgot my rain jacket in my cabin...

I was up all night for no reason just like always, and I slept in literally until the very last second, catching breakfast as the kitchen staff were just about to close up. I was really excited for the tidepools, I knew they were fantastic but the tide was never low during the cross country meet so we never got to check them out. I was not disappointed. I felt like a five year old out there (or Tim), perfectly content to gaze into one pool for 15 minutes at a time, lifting rocks and poking things to see what they felt like. They were maybe the most beautiful things I had ever seen. The colors were magnificent. The spooky greens of the Giant Green Anemone, the deep purples of the Purple Sea Urchin, the vibrant reds of the Blood Star, all surrounded by a stupid variety of algaes and kelps on a canvas of Muscles and Barnacles. Because of the on going Sea Star plague there was a depressingly low amount of interesting larger species but I saw a pretty fat orange-yellow thing that I'm going to tentatively label a Mottled Star. There was constant motion in the pools. Hermit Crabs scuttled about, along with the victims of their theft, the Sea Snails. I saw a ton of different species of crabs, but didn't take close enough observations to ID any of them, except for one with disproportionately large turquoise claws that I believe was a Green Shore crab. There were tiny black and grey Tide Pool Sculpin that would have had great camouflage if they weren't darting all over the place like idiots. The very ground I was walking on was covered in strange discoveries– the Gooseneck Barnacle was particular odd, with it's long, narrow shafts. My favorite discovery was a weird little guy, maybe an inch across, that looked like an incredibly skinny sea star, but was moving around as almost as fast as a crab. I took it out of the water and it crawled around my hand, it's motion reminded me of an inch worm– when it got to the edge its arms grasped at thin air like it really wanted to keep going. Tim said it was pretty rare and called it a Brittle Star.

All in all it was a fantastic trip, and I'm really glad I got to see what I saw.

Brittle Star

Blood Star

Tidepool with green anemone and purple sea urchin

Gooseneck barnacles

Forest Spiritesque Big Leaf Maple

Enormous Douglas Fir

Silly ass Red Alder

Grey Jay

Hairy Manzanita

View of Lake Crescent from the top of Storm King– the tree to the right is a young Doug Fir, and the plants with entire leaves on the left are Salal 

Hairy Manzanita, Zoom out Zoom in sketch

Thumbnail looking across the Elwha to the Red Alders (among other trees) on the other side

WEEK 3

Date: Sunday, April 17th
Time: 7:15- 8:15
Weather: Partly cloudy
Temperature: 70˚

The woods are very different at dusk then at any other time of day, things are quieter and calmer. The birds are even less visible than usual, although I did see a Robin with a bright red chest on the way down to the spot. There are a LOT more mosquitos though.. I have no idea how I'm going to keep doing this into June, it's barely spring and I'm already finding myself swatting at the air like a crazy person every few seconds.

Someone has covered my usual space with mulch! I knew people interacted with this space but I had no idea that it was this manicured, it really changes my impression of the identity of these woods, their "wildness" seems less and less apparent every time I visit.. I found a big black beetle crawling around in the mulch. He has a glossy back that reflects a rainbow of colors when the light hits it like an oil spill.

Transitioning Big Leaf Maple Flowers

This week is particularly exciting because I can actually identify some of the plants I've been vaguely talking about for a while. I realize now that most of the deciduous trees around my spot are Red Alder. The leaves make them pretty easy to identify, they are soft and double toothed. I also know that Red Alders are more common around water sources and wetlands, and most of these trees are circling the big muddy pit that is the center of the ravine. They're really big, I'd estimate the largest ones are 40 or 50 ft tall. There is also a few Big Leaf Maple trees visible from my site. The opposite branching pattern and distinctive 3 pointed leaves make it easy to identify. Some of the flowers on the tree are in a transition period, half way to becoming the distinctive "samara" seed pods.

Salmon Berries just now starting to form

The area is covered in Salmon Berries, which makes sense because they tend to grow in shaded wetland environments. The leaves are compound and serrated, with three leaflets per branch. Some of the flowers are just begining the transition into becoming fruits, which is an interesting sight to see. I saw at least one Thimble Berry plant, with large, soft, maple-esque leaves, and thin branches that are covered in fuzzy wannabe spines (the blackberries are probably laughing.) I'm pretty sure I found an Indian Plum as well. It's hard to identify because it was a very generic looking shrub, with thin, alternate-pattern branches and boring entire leaves. But when I ripped the middle of the leaf, the distinctive stringy filaments were visible, which I'm pretty sure is close enough for me to call it. The big-leafed plant I noticed earlier growing out of the mud is definitely Skunk Cabbage.

Artist's Conk

Mystery mushroom #1

The lichens and fungi I found were very hard to identify to say the least. The only one I'm absolutely sure about is the Artist's Conk, which was protruding from a log. The mushrooms were large and wooden in appearance, with bright white undersides. The other kinds of mushrooms I really am completely uncertain about, they aren't very distinctive and after doing research there are a lot of possibilities. Mystery mushroom #1 was dark brown and had a large, circular cap that was concave like a shallow bowl, I didn't get a look at the gills because it was growing out of a log in the thick mud and I had to lean over to get the picture I did. Mystery Mushroom #2 was light brown/orangeish with small caps that were almost serrated on their edges, and very small if any stems. The gills were not very pronounced, though I didn't get a very good look. They looked absolutely delicious.

Mystery mushroom #2

On one stick in the ravine I found what I believe are two different kinds of lichens. Both are a similar pale blue color so I thought they were just one species at first, but after consulting the book I think it is actually two. One kind covered the stick itself and had broad, wavy lobes. I think it's Ragbag. Another kind protruded out from the stick in weird, alien looking fractal patterns. I think it's Forking Bone.

The last species I found I couldn't even identify as a species of fungus or a lichen. It's greyish- white with broad lobes. It looks slightly like the Pimpled kidney lichen (a very unfortunate name) but it was protruding from a fallen log like some sort of shelf mushroom.

Two kinds of lichen, Ragbag on the right and Forking Bone on the Left

Ultra super mystery lichen or fungus??????

WEEK 2

Date: Sunday, April 10th
Time: 6:00– 7:15 PM
Temperature: 57˚
Weather: Partly Cloudy

The woods are noticeably greener today

It's later in the evening than last time so the woods are consumed by a soft shadow, the colors aren't as bright but I think it's more relaxing.

There's a woodpecker going at it behind me on– he's been pecking the shit out of that tree for like 15 minutes now. The bird is pretty small, he's high up there so it's hard to tell but I'd say no larger than 6-8 inches tall. He's mostly black, or dark grey, with a long, narrow beak and splotches of white on his his head and back. 

There's definitely more green here this time, some of the deciduous trees have become insecure about their bodies now that more animals are out and they're frantically trying to cover up. The canopy is a lot thicker, and I'm noticing a lot more leaf shapes. One tree has 3-inch leaves with three points that look like a maple, but the only maple in the field guide is the big-leaf maple and it doesn't look like that one.. Another tree has long, dark-green ovular leaves that jut out of central points like stars at the end of each branch.

sword fern

There are at least two kinds of ferns here: sword ferns, with long fronds lined with dark-green jagged blades, and another kind I can't identify with light-green fronds that expand like fractals out from the ground.

For some reason I'm noticing a lot more insect life than last time. The soil is full of pill bugs quietly going about their business with prehistoric wisdom. The webs seem to be numerous and a few fat brown garden spiders are the culprits. I definitely found myself swatting at a mosquito or two which is also new.

At first the sounds of the forest are just garbled chaos like the sounds of the U district from an open window, but the longer I sit here, the more I can here the conversations that are going on all around me. A bird will sing a beautiful tune and another will repeat her faintly on the other side of the forest. I wonder how the birds pick the songs they want to sing...

These bushes have been cut apart by someone...

mystery fern

The evidence of human intervention is more obvious to me than last time. It's almost like I saw right past it at first, but now I can't help but notice the stumps and severed branches– the unnatural clumps of branches and clutter in certain spots. It looks like someone's been trying to eliminate a particularly nasty looking bush with gnarly thorny leaves like a holly tree's. I wonder who's coming down here...

(Noble Fir?) sapling that the sketches I made were based on

Monday April 4, 2016

Week 1

Date: Sunday, April 3rd, 2016

Weather: Partly cloudy

Temperature: 67˚

Location: The Dump No Material Whatever ravine, Wedgwood

The place I chose is a mysterious patch of wilderness in North Seattle, two blocks away from the house I grew up in. It has no label in google maps, and, as far as I've seen, there is no posted sign identifying it other than the strongly worded "Dump No Material Whatever" that marks my chosen entrance point off 40th avenue by 89th Street. It is owned by the city, but it isn't a park, its protected land (I'm not entirely sure what its protected for, I think it has something to do with preserving the watershed and ecosystem of Thornton creek which the ravine is connected to at the bottom of my hill.) For this reason its technically illegal for me to trespass on it, but I've been doing it for as long as I can remember– as do all of the children in the area with the same illicit curiosity. I'm mindful not to damage the environment– to tread carefully on the hillsides in order to prevent erosion, and never to venture too deeply. My chosen spot is just a few feet beyond the "Dump No" sign, on the hill side before it spills into the ravine bellow.

(That nameless patch of green is the Dump No Material Whatever ravine)

An average, run of the mill rich-people house

So I'm perched here, this hill, overlooking a spectacular ravine. This is a truly wild area, untouched by human activity aside from those excessively large homes, poorly hidden under vegetation and perched on the hill tops around me. The wealthy have long had an affinity for "nature," particularly "private nature," so they've done everything in their power to claim this neutral zone and seal it off from the rest of the community– even though the city has made it clear that it doesn't belong to anyone. But if they can't buy the forest, they will buy the view. So, even though I sit here in secret unowned land I can't help but feel like I am intruding in someone's back yard– in someone's private fantasy. 

But, whether I'm a trespasser or a guest, this space is still beautiful. The warm, gentle sunlight spills through the trees and ignites the leaves and mosses with energy. The greens and the greens and the greens are splattered like finger paints on a canvas of brown– a kindergartener's art project– at once simple and chaotic. 

A gust of fresh, cool air and little white flower petals drift down from the canopy like snowflakes– I have no idea where they came from. There's an impressive accumulation on the ground now, probably enough to cancel school in Seattle but laughable by Boston standards.

The view from my spot, into the ravine

The air is so clean here, so honest. A complex palette of crisp, sweet flowers and robust, almost offensive soils. Life and death at once in my nose. There's something underneath it all too– a base that I can't quite identify, something I can sense on the air that I can't see or hear...

The forest hums with a soothing, yet intricate sonata. The persistent splash of an unseen creek provides the rhythm and bass for the birds to compose their improvisational melodies of chirps and twitters– sometimes rudely interrupted by a squirrel's musically-challenged yelp.

A cacophony of caws burst from the sky above– I look up. Dozens of crows dance between the trees with frantic urgency. What are they doing? Suddenly a great brown blur slices through them– a hawk? Or eagle? At first I think the nameless bird of prey is on the attack, but I soon realize the opposite is true, it looks like the crows are chasing it. As soon as the commotion started it was over and I was left listening to the regularly scheduled soundtrack and wondering what the hell just happened.

Weird lumps rise out of the ravine like islands in a sea of mud

Now for specifics– the soil in the gorge bellow is dark and soaking wet, and the plant life down there is very different than it is on the hills, where things are much drier. There are no trees down there, or far fewer, instead there are just bush-like formations that I can't identify, very large with dozens of thin stems jutting out in every direction and small, oblong leaves. There's great leafy things that look like they'd be alright in a hipster's organic salad (water plantain?)

Close up of sapling surrounded by flower petals

The higher up the hill the more trees there are. I few are coniferous (western red cedars– those I do recognize) but most of them are deciduous. The dominating type is a very tall tree with a smooth light brown/off-white trunk and small oblong leaves They're patchy this early, some don't even have leaves at all. Right next to me there are ferns (sword ferns?),  nasty looking bush-like plants with spiny leaves like a holly tree, and many tree saplings of at least the two types of trees I've previously identified. There are also smaller green plants mixed in with the dirt and clutter of the hillside, and there are white toadstools jutting out from the side of the stump I'm sitting on.

Besides the crows and unidentified raptor from earlier, the birds were almost entirely heard but not seen. I did end up seeing one hummingbird though, and of course I saw a few squirrels.

On my way out, higher up the hill, I saw the patch of trees that was the source of the flower petal snow. They might be western flowering dogwood trees.