Lately I have not had much chance to get out into the wilds of Washington and enjoy my scenic hikes to familiar and favorite places.  I realize how much I miss these weekend journeys into the woods and hope that I can soon find time to get back to the things I truly love.  The following excerpt from a book I was reading expresses some of my thoughts rather well.

"The woods are so human that to know them one must live with them.  An occasional saunter through them, keeping to the well-trodden paths, will never admit us to their intimacy.  If we wish to be friends, we must seek them out and win them by frequent, reverent visits at all hours; by morning, by noon, and by night; and at all seasons, in spring, in summer, in autumn, in winter.  Otherwise we can never really know them and any pretense we may make to the contrary will never impose on them.



They have their own effective way of keeping aliens at a distance and shutting their hearts to mere casual sightseers.  It is of no use to seek the woods from any motive except sheer love of them; they will find us out at once and hide all their sweet, old-world secrets from us.  But if they know we come to them because we love them, they will be very kind to us and give us such treasures of beauty and delight as are not bought or sold in any marketplace.



For the woods, when they give at all, give unstintingly and hold nothing back from their true admirers.  We must go to them humbly, patiently, watchfully, and we shall learn what poignant loveliness lurks in the wild places and silent intervales, lying under starshine and sunset, what cadences of unearthly music are harped on aged pine boughs or crooned in copses of fir, what delicate savors exhale from mosses and ferns in sunny corners or on damp brooklands.



Then, the immortal heart of the woods will beat against ours and its subtle life will steal into our veins and make us its own forever, so that no matter where we go, or how widely we wander, we shall yet be drawn back to the forest to find our most enduring kinship."

~from Thistle Harvest by John Foster

Tags: hiking, weekends

I really hoped to have some of my own photos to include with this entry, because if ever there was a blog entry that deserves good photos it is this one. Unfortunately, I did not have my camera along to photograph one of the most incredible scenes I have ever witnessed. I hope to yet capture this scene and will be sure to include that photo if I get it. In the meantime, I will do my best to describe what I saw.

This week started off with some fairly nice weather and my cousin Lucy and I decided to take a late evening hike up into the mountains. So we headed off toward Mt. Ellinor at about 7:30pm, just as the last group of people were coming back down off the mountain. The sun was still pretty bright and clear, but getting lower in the sky, so it was actually fairly chilly when we started, despite highs in the 80s that day. But the cool night air made for comfortable hiking as we started up the steep, winding trail, glowing with excitement of getting away from civilization and the bustle and noise of the lowlands. Lucy and I are both most content when trekking through the mountain wilderness.

The snow had been melting in the recent warm days, so we didn't find snow on the trail until we got to the fork which divides the summer and winter trails. The summer trail is still pretty packed with snow, so we took the winter trail, up the chute. The snow was several feet deep, but just perfect for hiking, not so soft that your legs plunge deep into it, but not so hard that you slide around across the top. It was nicely crunchy and only a little slippery. So we made excellent time going up and were able to climb all the way to the top of the chute in less than 90 minutes. We spotted several mountain goats on the rocky crags over us, looking down on us as though we didn't belong. As we came to the last, steepest climb, up the flow of ice and snow which narrowly squeezes between the rocky cliffs of the mountain, we were both getting a little tired and took a break to look out over the Puget Sound which was clear as far as the eye could see in any direction. I could see all the way from Mt. Baker in the north, to Mt. Rainier, Mt. Adams, and Mt. Saint Helens toward the south. The lights of Seattle and Tacoma were visible in the distance and the setting sun was beginning to bathe the snowy peaks of the Cascades with a bright orange glow. The city lights had a noticeable twinkle to them, which made them sparkle like jewels in a setting of dark green evergreens and blue waters. What a beautiful state this is. But the best was yet to come.

We hurried up the pace a bit as we crossed the bowl in order to get to the high ridge that looks out on the inner mountains of the Olympics. We were aware that the daylight was rapidly dimming and that it would be wise to begin descending again very soon. But we had come this far, and only a few more minutes lay between us and that glorious sight that can only be seen when you are high enough in the mountains to actually be able to look deep into the heart of the Olympic Mountains. Soon we climbed up over the jagged peaks of the ridge and rested against a large rock. The view was absolutely breathtaking. The red-orange glow of the sun was settling over the highest snow-capped peaks of the inner peaks of the Olympics, and every angle was clear and unhindered by clouds or haze. The rocky cliffs, poking their way out of the snow, reflected all shades of blue and purple, with each successive layer of distance causing the color to be slightly more muted. The words purple mountains majesty came to mind, as this was a very apt description of what was before us. We both stood there quietly, just taking in this rare moment of witnessing the beauty of God's creation at it's most sublime. I didn't even think of the fact I had no camera with me at this time, only regretting it later, but could only think how blessed I was to gaze upon this scene of rare beauty that is witnessed by very few people, since it is rather uncommon to happen to be sitting at the top of such a vantage point like this at precisely the moment such a perfect sunset unfolds.

Taking my eyes off the distant beauties for a moment, I glanced down to the rocks at my feet and noticed another rare sight, that of the lovely Flett's Violets, growing there in the cracks in the rocks, in the harshest of environments. This cheery little flower can be found only in rocky crevices of the Olympic Mountains, nowhere else in the world! It has pinkish-purple, petals and hardy dark green leaves. It is hard to imagine how such a delicate looking flower can survive the harsh conditions of this place where snow and ice are present most of the year and soil is pretty much non-existent.



I found the above picture of the Flett's Violet on the National Park Service web site. Someday I plan to get a picture of my own to add to my collection of native wildflower photos of Washington State. The environment of the Olympic National Park is so unique that there are several plants found nowhere else in the world. I hope to eventually photograph every one of them. If you would like to see a nice gallery of high quality images from Mt. Ellinor and vicinity check out this web site.  Here is one of their shots showing the bowl and the ridge we climbed to get the sunset view.  The clouds here, obscuring the mountains beyond, are more typical of what can be expected from this vantage point before July.



As the last rays of sun disappeared behind the mountains to the west, the temperature noticeably dropped within a very short time. We were, after all, at the top of a mountain, nearly 6000 feet high, surrounded by snow and ice. The descent was a lot more fun than the climb. We skied with our shoes down off the ridge into the snow bowl and did remarkably well at staying upright. From there, we literally ran across the bowl to the edge of the chute and then began our careful climb back down. It turned out that we could actually keep a pretty good pace once we got the hang of digging in our heels and walking down as if descending a long, steep staircase. It required careful balance to avoid toppling headlong into the snow and sliding rapidly down to the bottom. Lucy was determined to find a good way to slide down part of the way in the safer spots and finally figured out how to do this successfully. But I was able to nearly keep up with her just walking, with a pretty good pace, down the slopes. Soon we were back at the fork and out of the snow and finally in need of our flashlights to guide us on the trail to the car. As is tradition, Lucy recited trail poems for me to help pass the time and set the mood for a relaxing return hike. The moon was shining through the trees, casting strange shadows on the trail before us and creating an eerie mood. This seemed to be perfect for a recitation of The Highwayman by Alfred Noyes. There is nothing quite like the expressive voice of Lucy reciting poems along the trail, when one's feet are aching and legs are tired. But this one was especially perfect as the moonlight wound its way through the trees and such words as When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas, when the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor were being quoted in dramatic voice. It made for a perfect end to our high adventure.

Tags: hiking