Pacific Northwest
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Seen through the windshield, first shooting star is precipitous, unbelievable. It appears at the hazy edge of vision and even before my eyes in reflex dart to see it it's gone. It is a thing of transcendental frailty, like an orb of dense magic, or a grain of sand in some stellar hourglass. And so come the rest, plummeting now through the atmosphere in Jupiterian rhythm, the weight of their celestial histories burning up behind them. Flowing eons in the comet's cosmic stream ended now (for now) by the deep graviton tides of orbiting Earth, strange new home. How long is a moment? What is impermanence? Look northeast on a late summer night. In the trail of a falling star it's all laid bare. moonless forest dark flowers, above comet's silent stream One-lane road, headlit tunnel through trees, til trailhead. Sweating in the torchlight, more climb than hike through firs, canopy only known by the starlight shapes left uncovered by needly boughs. Suddenly whole expanse of nighttime sound is laid out before me, twinkling electronic moonlight metropolis. But trail kept up. Make peak as the first predawn orange swell silhouettes Rainier. Not long til Cascade sunlight crests radiant. Day. //Sunrise over Mt. Washington seen from Mt. Ellinor in the Mt. Skokomish Wilderness, Olympic Mountains.
The first predawn orange swell silhouettes Rainier over the sleeping Puget Sound.
Giant Green Anemones (Anthopleura xanthogrammica) abstracted by the flowing waters of a tidal stream in Olympic National Park.
Giant Green Anemones (Anthopleura xanthogrammica) found in Kalaloch Beach 4 tide pools.
Near the end of our climb, we're rewarded with a view of Mt. Stone's elegant curves. The elixir of the mountain! The sight is all we need to finish out our day's work.
Even with our dawdling, we break timber just before the peak of the long autumn sunset. Heron, Grouse, Bear, & Rising Moon come to give us their good blessings, and we know this is the answer of the mountain spirits. We set up camp again in the dark, now casting shadows in silver, and rest our tired bones.
Camp broken under starscape crevasses—firs' towering darkness.
Morning washes slowly down the slopes of LaCrosse Basin, and with each step along the rocky shore a new generation of tiny frogs scrambles into the diamond-clear waters of the lake.
Mt. Cruiser before dawn on an August Morning, with clear views to the heavily-glaciated Mt. Olympus looming in the distance.
Sandstone formations found on Kalaloch Beach 4, Olympic National Park.
Tacoma, Washington On my first night in Washington, the sun went down in typical Washington fashion--behind the clouds. Disappointed, I thought one of my few evenings on such a striking seashore had gone unfulfilled. Luckily, light pollution actually helped a nighttime photo for the first time in history, lighting up an entirely new set of pink-glowing clouds on the other side of the horizon. I ended up getting what appeared to be a sunset, but in truth it was more of a bulbrise.
Otters feast on abundant fish off Kalaloch Beach 4.
Leaves & shadows shiver in the restless wind, the rippling water scattering light madly. Old Fir coils around his dead brother's woody bones. Yes, each step brings us further into the Forest!
Mt. Steel's unassuming southeast face watches over a ferny glen among the rocks.
Evening sunlight illuminating the bold forms of Mt. Steel.
In berry-rich fall the Bears rejoice in their good fortune, that their last meals of the season should be so decadent. They hide away in tufts of trees as the shadows slide into the lake, where the golden fish of bending light swim in wavelets across surface.
snow's river's calming, rocks by the water singing-- July's light blue sky!
Mountain goats lounge on Ellinor's shoulder, digging for food and cool earthen relief, August sun's now blaring. Quarrels now and then arise abruptly from obscure breaches of protocol, or simply hot blood, but are forgotten just as quickly. Introduced Species. I wonder if they feel how alien they are to this place? If they long for their natural Northern Rockies in some vague way, for not having to dig away from the heat quite so much. If they feel in that way the burden of their presence here, the karma we've given them in our uninvited meddling. They too were drawn here, by forces beyond sight, beyond memory, to this strange new home. last snowbank resting under goat's clever smile //Mt. Ellinor, Mt. Skokomish Wilderness, Washington
Snow-fresh waters, death-fresh life.
Mount Constance (ya light flies as Raven from four worlds away
Camping Under the Starry Chasms at Two Bear.
Sunset light painted across Lacrosse Basin in Olympic National Park.
The whole twilight expanse of the tree-toothed eastern Olympics is there before me, but I can only watch my fragile feet, whistling nervously as I stumble downhill in the deepening dark. Somewhere on the slope the sound of tumbling rocks gives away two elk. They're also headed back—and in an instant the path to camp is clear and safe. I've been following all along the old etchings of their broad hooves, the paths of their ancestors, and of mine. I thank them deeply for showing me the way one more time.
Reaching the ridge, I see it. Mount Anderson's silent mass—Great Tombstone Mountain! It's clear now to whom those lesser peaks are praying. Immense & stony-faced, glacial nesting majesty, jutting at unbelievable angles out of the skinny dark valley below. Monuments of ice hang from His peaks, spilling at mineral speed over the rocky cliffs, each instant grinding away at His hard flesh. Yet He sits in monastic stillness, unflinching. Mortality does not scare him! No churn of mantle, no gape of tectonic jaws can make his blind eyes blink. He is mortality itself! Sunset licks her many kings, and the dried-mud precipice stares into me like a mirror. I blink, exhale. Back.
The First morning light touches the peak of Mt. Rainier over the early morning Puget Sound.
Lake Anthony, Oregon // On this particular morning I woke up shivering. The previous night, my map's lying nature led me to drive an hour in the dark until I arrived at the Anthony Lake campsite, where I promptly fumbled with the tent until it was up, then slept until the cold rung my body like an alarm clock. With nothing else to do but say "So much for summer," I decided I'd go generate some body heat trying to find the campground's namesake lake. By the time I got back to camp, the frigid air had my forgiveness. That said, I do not want to be around here in a few billion years when the sun cools.
Mussles, Clams, and Giant Green Anemones weathering low tide in Olympic National Park.
Mind-clearing waters of the North Fork Skokomish, crossing near Big Log.
Sunset calligraphy over O'niel Pass, Olympic National Park
Impossible not to imagine the kami living in these rivers and trees, their silent tinkering with the luck of travelers. Call out—just in case—with a humble prayer for their blessings as we pass through their woods
We share the sunrise with four bear, plodding across the valley slopes, heavy maws dripping with the sugary blood of late-season huckleberries. I chew them myself as I walk among the galaxies, pale blue orbs adrift and brimming in the expanse of burgundy leaves—the sweetness washes over my tongue like a hurricane glimpsed from the timescale of mountains.
Reaching the ridge, I see it. Mount Anderson's silent mass—Great Tombstone Mountain! It's clear now to whom those lesser peaks are praying. Immense & stony-faced, glacial nesting majesty, jutting at unbelievable angles out of the skinny dark valley below. Monuments of ice hang from His peaks, spilling at mineral speed over the rocky cliffs, each instant grinding away at His hard flesh. Yet He sits in monastic stillness, unflinching. Mortality does not scare him! No churn of mantle, no gape of tectonic jaws can make his blind eyes blink. He is mortality itself! Sunset licks her many kings, and the dried-mud precipice stares into me like a mirror. I blink, exhale. Back.
Sunrise over Mt. Washington in the Mt. Skokomish Wilderness, at the edge of the Olympic Mountains.
Glacier National Park, Montana // Rushing through its slot-like bed, Avalanche Creek is just one of the lush mountain streams that help shape the dramatic, almost unreal geology of Glacier National Park. The creek gets its unique color from the minerals carried in the glacial melt water. Unfortunately, due to globally rising temperatures, the National Park's eponymous glaciers are likely to be gone by 2030.
Clams and Mussles along the Olympic seashore.
Leaves & shadows shiver in the restless wind, the rippling water scattering light madly. Old Fir coils around his dead brother's woody bones. Yes, each step brings us further into the Forest!
Racing the rising sun up the final push of the pass, make it just a little too on time for the red of first light against the far peaks.
A weathered conifer silhouetted by the evening light on Mt. Steel.
Upslope across wandering streams that trickle along and suddenly plunge into stonecutting canyon. Ground grades into wall as I scramble up what seem like ancient trails, set down with the gentle grace of age, grasping slick sedges and loose rock and the hope that things will turn out just fine. Around me now are the far horizons of mountains; they're curved downward like spines, Farallon Giants bowed in adoration to something far greater and more terrible than even their own ageless power.
