Tag: ecology

Adventure Above North Fork sdukʷalbixʷ stulʷkʷ

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On a damp late August morning, a friend and I planned a hike back in a place we’d scouted around the month before. Topo maps marked a mine we had noticed after already exploring along the lower trails, and bush-waking there had become impossible from where we had found ourselves in the terrain last trip. This time, our aim was another trail further up the draw that led strait to it, and the upper climbing rout to Mt Phelps. Below is our planned hike in black, and the mountain trail in yellow.

This part of Federal Forest land has been logged twice, mined, and cut with endless miles of road now eroding away with harder rains and more to come. Right now, federal pressures to cut more forests makes areas like this a prime target for future harvests, so I’ve been coming up here to document the plants and animal activity to better know where things are now, before the culling. Luckily, so far, Washington State has been more active in protecting our public lands, letting further afield areas remain in recovery. This forest is trying to grow. There are still some old growth nurse logs around, and a few of the trees are looking so big and healthy, perfect for the timber industry to cut and send abroad to Asia. Our tax dollars will subsidize it too. Making a windfall for foreign investment at the expense of our ecology. The stock market will go up, and money will funnel into very few hands, while the landscape we all rely on for our survival continues to be dismantled.

If we take a moment to trace back our Colonial roots to Europe, we can see what was done there first by wealth and power, a few families stripping the land across countries that are the size of American States, and had natural resources in abundance, many hundreds of years ago. At that time, there were already countless man made polluted sites all over the world, but on such a small scale, without industry, just slave labor, to peck away at the crust for every last drop of profitable return. But no one was giving anything back, and so, the land turned on us. Famine stalked towns and villages. Cities still grew up on the backs of extorted labor in many forms. Before the advent of African chattel slavery, people would war with other people over resources, conquer them, and take the defeated as property. This system of hierarchical ownership built the societal structure we’re still leaning into today. But it’s been cracking for a long time.

With my limited 15 years of direct land contact and reciprocal engagement of tending, harvesting, and returning to the soil through every season with intention to grow food and restore a forest, I have learned a lot about how not returning something gets you less the next year, and the next after that. In places I’ve been neglecting, invasives come in, livestock eats the plantings and I loose a lot of time and effort. Last night, a newly hatched chick was taken from it’s brooder setup in the garage, a place I thought was safe and secure. A hard lesson, reminders all the time that this work never ends, things evolve and change, and one moment I’m not looking, something collapses into something else. Where a void is made, new opportunities arise. It’s more exciting and rewarding than not, but the losses can be hard.

There are always losses for every gain, and we the people are having a hard time learning this lesson in life- balance. Our very economic system fights the reality of balance all the time- from our nation debt, to the ever expected to ride stock market. Such madness in numbers running across screens, it means nothing when you look at the living world. I was looking, on this hike today, taking in the standing stumps, wondering at the old growth stump being gone all together. People were desperate to turn nothing into something, so old growth stumps were scavenged by shinglers. The cut landscape was also set on fire to clear the slash, which often also killed off any future seeds of some species. Under the canopy of this young forest, I saw many species of understory not seen in timber plantations where logging continues on industrial scale.

A lot of our plantation forests are dominated by sword fern, but in more intact forest floors, deer fern and club mosses abound. We saw the usual Oregon grape and salal, but also wild ginger and hookers faerie bells. There were a couple of plants I was not familiar with, and had to take pictures to look them up- what do you think? I think at least one is introduced, another challenge in reading heavily alter by human landscapes.

Red Baneberry Actaea rubra, is one I don’t see a lot, but it’s extensively found throughout most of North America. Something I hope is evergreen huckleberry was on the road up near the mine. I’m not sure it’s huckleberry because I’ve never seen it at this elevation. The third find is water parsley. It’s carrot family for sure, and the size, location, and leaf shape signals this great wetland indicator. All three plants named are native, and remind us of the legacy plants which have survived human impact with logging, road building, and mining.

The mountains we’re hiking in for this adventure are called, The Cascades. They received this name because of all the water cascading down out of them everywhere. The whole of Western Washington is all about water, at least it was, but industries built dams for cheap power, ditches to drain the water off good farm land, and have removed the majority of the temperate rainforest, it’s understory, and most of the topsoil. Now, flooding happens as heavy rains pour down with climate change, yet we keep draining, cutting, and celebrating our engineering, which has destroyed salmon runs across the west. You can find a lot of information about this at The Governor’s Salmon Recovery website:

When we take the dams down, these problems that may seem so complex, are gone, and the fish thrive, plus, the landscape is also better for it. If we gave back the wetlands to nature again, fire risk would drop, a never ending supply of seasonal food would return, and the true cost of our electricity would be paid. We have been living a lie in believing electricity is cheap and endless. We’ve convinced ourselves on finite, outsmarted ourselves with convenience, and deafen towards cries to protect what’s left of our ecosystem. Where are we giving back in equal amounts to what we’re taking? How can we even comprehend now? I don’t think most of us try.

When nature stops trying… but it doesn’t. This forest, nationally labeled, could see logging again, which would set back the forest regeneration for another generation or two of human detriment. It’s becoming hard not to stand in wonder at all we’ve done here. The miles of gravel road, washed out in storms, regraded, rocked- rock hauled from nearby mountainsides by large trucks burning more fuel. The argument is fire protection, but the access maintenance costs millions over time, and remains a going expense that only encourages more extraction and compaction over time. Thus furthering the draining and drying out of the landscape to further fire vulnerability. When are forests resilient? When they are allowed to reach maturity and be left alone. Not all landscapes stripped by people can regenerate on their own, but coastal temperate rainforests are amazing at recovery, they have evolved with strata volcanoes and major tectonic uplift for millions of years.

That same dynamic geology is why there is so much mining in them there hills. Copper and gold are the main minerals prospected for here, and it’s lucky there were not larger seams discovered, or the whole watershed would be contaminated by mine tailing by now. Instead, the black hawk mine and others like it are dormant claims, still paid on every year as place markers to make sure access would still be granted if operations became affordable in future. More misuse of our finite minerals will ensure this down the road. For now, a lack of profitability keeps mining at bay. Legacies of this practice still about throughout The Cascade Mountains. A legacy of digging is less known in this state, but was a main stay of what built Seattle. At the height of mining in Western Washington, it was coal lighting all the train boilers and burning in every home for warmth and cooking. Industry spilled out of the mountains and down into easier to reach seams of coal in the hills around the export ports of Tacoma and Seattle.

The modest trail we’re on now, was built originally in the early 1900s as a rail line to access trees. Then it became a road, and now, it’s a wide trail that ATVs and other motorized vehicles can still climb to with the right gear. We noted tire tracks as we climbed, and at the opening where “Black Hawk Mine” is marked, we found typical “back woods” detritus. An abused burn pit full of trash and spent cartridges stood with dry brush piled up over it for future bonfires. There were parts of metal machines and cars piled at one end for target practice- without any proper backstops. In the brush and trees against the mountain, we saw lots of hanging white granite stone and large second growth logs piled in a scree slide. The area is quite overgrown, and we had no high hopes of finding much evidence, but the collapsed hillside looked like it had once been a mine.

The actual shaft would have been well above the rail grade, so ore could be dumped down into train buckets for hauling out. Huge boulders sat in situ, with evidence of blasting, most likely to close the shaft for liability. Now, over 100 years later, the stakes of a mine remain, and future extraction could happen, along with logging. It would be so costly to repair the road and rebuild the mine, not to mention all the hauling in and out that trucks would do to keep things profitable. In this age of mega mining, small claims are low risk, but our maddening economy and current federal administration are known for impulsive whims of destruction if there’s anything to get out of it. I think there are bigger fish to fry, for now.

The protection of these finite resources is up to we the people. I’ve turned my head to some of the public’s behavior back here, because they would fight to protect their access with me, though we certainly have different opinions on what’s appropriate in our federal forests- not target shooting, ATV off-roading, and massive fire pits full of trash. I’ll be bringing a large trash bag with me next time I’m here, to carry out the small plastic casings and other little litter. Maybe I’ll plan to come camp up here for a night or two to explore more and hike to the peaks above. For now, small steps in getting to know the land, it’s forest friends, and appreciating the beauty that still shines through these sacred places. Gratitude to access, wilderness, recovery, patience, and renewal.

Stepping Outside

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It’s summer here at EEC Forest Stewardship and the zenith of vegetative growth has peaked with the sun’s light. Every morning, when I step outside, the scent of my thriving jasmine vine overcomes the senses. It’s one of my favorite summer gifts, the scent of so many flowering shrubs. Mock orange is also turning heads. My farm tours end up gravitating to them as we walk around. People ask, “what’s that amazing smell?” The unassuming white flowers compel our attention. There are some less enthusiastic white flowers- bind weed (morning glory) being the most insidious, but they don’t have a smell to draw us in. In the fruit tree canopy, cherries are ripe, apples are slowly growing and taking on their blush of red, and yarrow has flushed out in it’s own white foaming ground-cover. The atmosphere is alive and thriving, with lush green leaves broadly shading around the edges of otherwise evergreen forest. The dark mossy understory continued to hum with pollinators buzzing about, ants carrying the world into the soil and layers below our site.

I fold into these working systems with shears and a shovel. There are still lurking invasives to pull out of the order. Canadian thistle, Scottish thistle, and the morning glory all have to go before seeding out another generation of work for my heavily gloved hands. Sharp thistle spines are hard to get out of the skin, and an irritant latex sap pours out of the bindweed while I pull back the choking vines to let my garden breath. Always wash you hands after gardening. The fast growing pasture has compelled the sheep to eat well, and recent rains gave everything a boost. I’ve even got my ram back into the rotation, tethering him along the fence line where he easily takes care of the edges and cleans up around the gate to give the farm’s entrance that manicured feel. A chuckle escapes me as I write this, because manicured might be too formal a phrase for this operation. I don’t own a lawnmower, but the weed wacker is activated to keep summer growth off the buildings and out of the major walk ways. Sheep can’t graze around electrical wires or human access points, so mechanical means are implemented.

The cedar waxwings are back- feasting on twin berry in a stand I planted about eight years ago. The plants were once knee high, and now reach towards a third story height overhead. Establishment is good for the ground, and wildlife. Shade protects the vulnerable understory, while offering shelter to winged ones and some small mammals that manage to avoid our cats. I’ve been finding more shrews and voles dead along the path, and have taken to shunning the young cats when they try to show off such needless kills. When a mouse shows up, praise is applied liberally, and if a rat ever joins the count, I’ll be ecstatic. No rodent sign at the barn- Lucia, our oldest and wisest queen stands alone in all her black cat glory. She circles the grain room on patrol, and teams up with me to check the hay loft before feeding the poultry each morning. All is well here in the chicken coop too.

Eggs are in full production. I gather eight to ten a day as the hens come into their own. The younger pullets have grown to maturity, though I miss there smaller “first try” eggs. A younger rooster begins his crackled crowing, far less acoustical than his father’s full throated call. They are all drowned out by geese cackling at me to feed already. A row of ten gaggle around to receive their daily grain. Momma goose and father gander look a little overwhelmed as their clutch of 8 grows on into fully realized birds. I’ve fenced off the pond to keep out the hoard, but waterfowl must have some consolation, so I’m getting a kitty pool for the kids. Overcast skies teas us with a hint of rain, but the ground speaks to our continued drought. None of the birds will be getting a shower today, and that goes for the livestock guardian dogs too. They never bath, water is a deterrent- I think I could build a mote to keep them in. Big dogs don’t swim, they strut along the fence line reminding would be intruders that a pair of fine protectors are on guard. I’m so thankful for security.

Black capped raspberries are ripe and falling off the vine. I pick all I can and they still outpace me. Red raspberries are also ripe and ready for picking. Though much more modest in scope, they offer about a hand full each day when I walk by, which is enough treat for me to reach for them. This fruit is for immediate eating, not packaging and sending off. The literal fruits of my labors each year. I am grateful for the sweet treats along the way. Blueberries are not ripe yet, but the branches are filling up with young fruit, signaling a good year for the bushes. July will bring peaches too, and our tree is hanging low with its future bounty. The apples I mentioned earlier also look well, perhaps a mast year. I can’t say the same for pears, though there are many on the branch, we’ll see if they make it to maturity. Fruit trees do shed abundance before it ripens, if there is not enough water to spare. Most plants accommodate the weather to survive, and it’s going to get hotter as the summer progresses.

All this comes from being outside. I try to be in the middle of everything, seeing the changes all around, adjusting my own planting and harvesting to match the living world, which compels us to respond. I wonder how many people are trapped inside- inside themselves too. Stepping outside helps us gain perspective, breath the air and know if it’s healthy or not. For so many, the very breath they take invited toxins into the body. But that’s hippy dippy talk right? America first- at 250, what a site. We’ve been riding this circle of independence for so long now, without realizing it’s a merry go round. That’s not to say this great experiment is not profound. I’m lucky to be a citizen- or am I? Not sure what to think of country, just living in the freedoms my ancestors fought and died to protect. That’s the narrative, and my success is based off of such understandings. I don’t have to pass it on though. My bones will return to the earth and I will rest in peace some day. In the mean time, I’m able to sleep through most nights without incident, and survive into another day. That’s a miracle.

The dawn chorus continues, each bird following it’s original instructions to sing, fly, eat insects, glean seeds and spread them to make new trees and forest- even if it’s holly dominant down the road. Worms still crawl along through the soil, aerating and arranging minerals to help the plants grow- though again, invasives are also destroying our native forests. No matter how much hype about these damaging species comes, I still can’t help but observe that humans do the most damage all around. Perhaps if people were stepping outside more often, they would see and appreciate the natural world, rather than trying to dominate her. Yes, there is a parallel to misogyny and mother earth. Echos of man’s abuse to the environment continue through the generations to come. Put that in your pipe and smoke it. I’ll keep smelling the jasmine and picking cherries- life can be a bowl from time to time. Moderation in all things, or so I hear.

Above It All

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In early May, a dark overcast sky held the earth in shadow. These doldrums are great for working outside, but sometimes have that seasonal affect on the psyche. Any Western Washington inhabitant of several years takes the need for occasional sun and some serious D3 supplement in winter. There are clever ways to find sun in our area, and one of the easiest for me is driving about an hour up. The climb is a joy, heading along the valley river, then the first great step up at the rim of an ice age lake. The great Snoqualmie Falls plummets over a horseshoe drop carved out by tumults of melting ice water from glaciers as the atmosphere warmed. Above this precipice, I catch my first glimpse of the tectonic uplift of The Central Cascades. This is the ridgeline I love ascending to, dipping just over the back side, where peaks and lakes form a legacy of dynamic landscape full of biodiversity and adventure.

On this particular journey into the wilds, I had an intention to get above the clouds for some brought sunshine and an attempt to walk to the edge of the snow line. Without proper snow gear, I was not excited to summit anything or boldly go up steep incline. A few scenic back roads and switchbacks carried me up the steep terrain divided by alpine lakes and plantation forest plunder. Always a reminder to a point, the tree farm grants incredible private access, but remains an ecological waste land across most of its breadth. I’m a consumer of paper products, and I’ve seen recent new build on incredible scale with laminated timbers in tribal buildings near by in The Snoqualmie Casino. Wood products are much more ecologically sound- composting back to soil, or so the industry wants you to think. What about all the chemicals pumped into wood products? Oriented Strand Board (OSB) does not safely decompose into organic soil folks, and there are countless products of this stuff, common in most modern building.

That’s why the trees are cut, and will keep being harvested in these plantations. There are some beautiful stream buffer corridors along this part of the drive, but I really prefer not to get too attached, because major cuttings continue along all these groves. Still, in my lifetime I will have the chance to see some of these replanted section grow to sizable trees- or perhaps not. Wildfire could sweep through too. Such impermanence, even in forests. I can still drive on a little bit further, folding back into the evergreen patchwork to yet another forest, a place that has limited protections on it, no commercial cutting any more, but that legacy persists, and the promise of letting this place return fully to wilderness cannot be promised, for DNR land, though labeled “public” remains a place where logging operations can continue. In many places, they do. Hopefully, this elevation, combined with the fact that there’s not much timber feet of usable product available. This alpine habitat stunts the growth of many trees, and the older girth Douglas firs have their tops broken off by wind and ice, so the industry keeps their hands off, for now.

I’d like to say my hikes into these wild places are without a care in the world. A chance to escape the goings on down below in the valley. As all the landscapes are deeply connected together, so too are the thoughts and wonder that traverse the temples of my mind. I’ve got to take up meditation. And so this exploration allows a bit of focus, steps leading towards more quiet wilderness, the hum of insects, trickling beads of melting ice, crunching snow underfoot. I take my first steps into the snow line, it’s only another half a mile in, along the north side of a peak I’ve crested in the past, enough shadow remains to protect the frozen layers for just a few more weeks. Drifts build here, sheltered in a growth of native forest and rocky scree. The seeps hold sediment, washed down from the rocks and trees above. Plant life takes on the hillside with gusto. I’ve never seen some of these flowers before, spring is so fleeting in the highlands. I celibate the flowering saxifrage, slider alder and willow catkins, and fleeting tracks, melting away at the edges of the trail.

This place can calm the soul, even as I witness less snow pack and greater fire risk all around. My mind has to compartmentalize, keep the good vibes flowing along these mountain springs, which feed blue lakes below. Winter’s grip broke a few weeks ago, and all the lush life of this alpine wilderness awakens, all at once. I am awed by the warm light, and take off my jacket, stripping down to a t-shit, the weather will soon melt off the last of this snow, and I can again swim in the lakes in my wet suit. There are Pacific salamanders here, and all kinds of other magical amphibians. Delicate indicators that say the water is still safe to swim in, at this elevation. I begin post holing in the snow, coming to the far end of the three lakes, I turn and head back, my socks soaked, melting snow wicking down into my thin leather shoes. The tread is getting thin, not a place to scamper around on wet rocks in old souls.

As Valley and I enjoyed the last of winter sport, we came across some of the usual suspects on spring snow melt- fleas. No, not the kind you and your dog need to worry about- these are snow fleas, and boy are they fun to observe. These active little critters are a source of food for many animals. A naturalist in Vermont once taught me that black bears coming out of hibernation survived off the little fleas if the plants weren’t leafing out yet. I’ve sampled a few, and they taste peppery. I think I could spend a few hours gorging on these tiny treats if I was starving like a bear, but today, they were not on the menu, so I pressed on back towards the trail head, feeling the wet socks beginning to soak in. Wet feet in the snow is not ideal, and even after I was through the drifts, I still had a lot of wetlands to cross through before getting back to dry trail. My mind was partially on personal safety, I would have many hours of daylight left, but I had not packed an extra pair of dry socks in the truck, so my feet would be waterlogged for a bit longer on the drive home.

Self-care is a great place to let your mind wander when you’re in the back country. It’s another way to take your mind off the regular grind of life. I say grind because we’re all carrying more environmental stress than ever. How we let it burden us should be a personal choice, but grinding takes its toll. I’m feeling my eyes getting tired as I type on this screen, but I’ll power on through to finish my thoughts on this day hike and the nature I encountered. It’s important for me to log my experience, and share the real time rhythms of the wilderness we’re all just on the edge of, even if it’s only the wilderness of our minds. Perhaps that’s where we go when me meditate- I’ll use that as a questing tool. Questing for meditation, someone laughed at that. Maybe I’m laughing at myself. Always taking the world so seriously. More time slipping on the melting snow up here in the peaks might loosen me up a bit more. Would it be like Nero fiddling while Roam burned? At least I’m not riding an e-bike.

Lake Heather Adventure

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In early October, 2025, a couple of friends and I took an adventure day in the area of Mt. Pilchuck. Earlier last spring, I had climbed most of bəlalgʷəʔ before encountering snow. On the way up, I’d seen down into one of the steep draws and seen a small lake. My friend, hiking with me, commented that it was Lake Heather, and that she had made that hike with her family many years ago. The trip is about 6 miles in total, with 1,200′ of elevation gain on generally gradual terrain. I read up on the description on Washington Trail Association, and noted the warning of primitive trial through some large root systems and cascading hillside seeps. There were old growth trees a few miles up the trail, with second growth forests, and water features along the way. The trail would then circle around the lake, allowing 360 views of the mountain and ridges above. I looked forward to viewing the hike to the peak above, after viewing down to the lake where I would soon be. Perspectives like this give a glimpse of scale, and I appreciate the vast wilderness still available no more than a few hours from my front door.

As we began from the generous parking area, complete with state park facilities (compost toilets). A well marked trailhead, located across the street, held the common advisory board, including trail map and any hazard warnings. Things looked good, and we began our trek on a well graveled, recently upgraded first mile of the hike, enjoying new gradual steps on steep rises along the mountainside. The new gravel led us into a false sense of security, making the road easy and neat as we ascended. Then, quite suddenly, the trail maintenance ended, and an epic climb truly began. It’s not that dramatic, just suprising to be in a scoured landscape, where a canopy of forest remained, but the ground was mostly gravel, roots, and some active water moving down the slope.

It’s hard to fully capture what the trail eventually devolved into, but we managed to follow it, and, short of a few 3 foot lifts to get from one level of a drop to another, we had a relatively pleasant climb into beautiful intact groves of forest that were truly enchanting. There was a stark difference between the lower part of the trail and the upper. Some areas seemed scoured, and the group hypothesized about what might be going on. There were endless exposed roots all over the hillside on one part of the climb, far beyond what you might see on an overused trail needing repair. The restoration of well loved trails is a continuing process, with higher elevations becoming primitive in some places through continual use and nature’s entropy. One theory we all enjoyed was a flood of water from the lake out-pour. Water could easily create this scouring effect down the hillside. You’ll see some moss, but with all the ambient light, plants should take hold, but the lack of soil prevent rooting. The trees have taken desperate hold in areas once clearcut. Further up the trail we would encounter a much more lush environment where soils remained and more level terrain allowed topsoil to establish, even with frequent flooding.

In the picture below, a second growth cedar lays down hill on a slope where scouring has occurred. Roots lay bare, branched from windfall scatter the ground in seemingly arranged piles all facing the same direction. Following the downhill flow of flooding, the ground cover sweeps in the flow that still trickled down the peak, creating cascades of small waterfalls and flowing lines, directed by solid rock foundations of a long extinct volcanic magma chamber. Millions of years cultivated an old growth forest, ranging from temperate rainforest at the base, to sub-alpine spruce stands along the alpine lake, skirting scree piles laid down by uplift, fault shifts, and the dynamic landscape of The Pacific Northwest.

The shift from slope to generally even ground signaled the formation of wetlands. The lake’s outflow was a vast delta of forest, willow edges, and transition from cedar to spruce. The older trees were not so large, having to navigate high winds coming up the slope, or pressing down off the peaks in a northern gale. Fallen giants lay as testament to the storms that form off the towering ridge lines above. The weather that day had foretasted breezes, and that means gusts of 30mph or more, which would be adventuresome on this trail, in this ecology. We had entertained canceling the hike, but the forecast shifted to milder calm transition, so we went for it and lucked out with mostly dry hiking and only one brief downpour. The sun managed to flash a few times, and clouds held off long enough for us to get a few photos of the towering ridge lines supporting bəlalgʷəʔ ‘s out of sight peak, several thousand feet above.

The trail loops around the lake, on a well constructed boardwalk in stretches that cross the wetlands. The south side of the lake hosts some impressive boulders, craggy enough to have fallen from above in the last few thousand years. Glacial erratics will usually have obvious rounding in places from the ice that carried them along and shaped the whole region of Puget Sound. River rock around here was still impacted by ice about 10,000 years ago. That’s when the last ice sheets from the north retreated. bəlalgʷəʔ was already formed by tectonic uplift, and millions of years before that, it was an active volcano in a shallow sea archipelago, or so one theory goes. I love picturing all this change as I walk through, understanding why the layers of rock are here, how they were shaped, why there is a wetland, and how continued flooding has scoured the current slope down from the lake and valley above. This drainage basin gets clogged by flooding down steep slopes of rock, the lake’s wetlands sponge up as much as they can, but the running rivulets spill over the confines of the shallow plateau. Mountain torrents are not uncommon, and to see the evidence of this erosion chaos on the mountainside signaled the dangerous potential for hikers ill-informed about the mountain’s conditions.

On our way around the lake, we also found some nice mushrooms. I’m always on the lookout for some edible delights in the mountains during The Mushroom Spring. Our group hunted passively, but still managed to spot enough boletes to fill a couple of zip locks. That’s some good eating to take home. Spruce forests yield boletes, specifically porcine on this hike. It was a pleasure to group find and then send one runner (me) over to harvest. They were prominent around the established camping areas, through at this time of year, no tents were present. The mushrooms added a little extra flavor to our hike, and there were some https://lnt.org/good observations about a number of other fungal friends we encountered along the way. We were harvesting near the trail, which is important to remember when you are in a high impact area. Please try not to go far into the un-tread areas of the woods if there is a clear trail, especially in more remote areas with established ground cover or wetlands. Your tracks into the deeper wilds will soon lead others, until there is a new established trail cutting open the last habitat structures for our beloved wilderness. Trails and access is planned, constructed, and well marked to keep us off the sensitive terrain, and to allow wildlife some space. It’s another reason leashes are encouraged, so our pets don’t stress wildlife or disrupt habitat with scent, which deters wildlife. We are guests in nature, and when we are good guests, nature remains intact and enjoyable to visit, when we are bad guests, trash collects, latrine abuse abounds, and trails sometimes close all together.

Our original plan had been to hike to Lake 22, next-door to Heather Lake, in the neighboring plateau, but it was closed for maintenance through the week, and we had to change destinations. I’m glad there is funding and labor to fix these trails. There had been massive reconstruction of the lower part of our trail earlier in the summer, and that hard work was evident in the smooth hiking for about a mile at the start. This mountain is becoming a very popular daytime destination for folks living in the greater North Seattle area. As development continues to boom in the surrounding towns, the nearby ecology will have to bare this influx of outdoor enthusiasts hoping to get a little R&R in their backyard wilderness. That’s why I live in Western Washington, just close enough to Seattle for the airport and economic boon, but also far enough away to be within an hour of most local hiking and wilderness adventure spots- enough to keep me busy in nature connection and learning most of the year. To continue that enjoyment, and the access, we all have to do our part in being good guests in the landscape, and mindful of how and when we recreate to avoid overtaxing the precious natural world we wish to explore and be in.

Gratitude for the opportunities to share outdoor adventures with friends. To the weather that day being agreeable, trail approachable, and our safe accent and decent. Thanks to the nature all around us, the beauty of a growing and ever changing world, and our place in it. Joy in finding wild food, mushroom abundance, and friends to share it with. The Northwest continues to be home, teacher, adventure, and cultivated community, what a life!