What an incredible day! A new moon, extreme tides, and absolutely gorgeous weather made for a perfect paddle to the Dungeness Lighthouse and back.  I always knew Dungeness Bay was shallow – but just how shallow was revealed as the tide rolled back to a -2. At this level, the steam from the morning sun rises in a smoky fog from the mudflats, and expansive fields of bright green algae are nakedly exposed. We watched the depths carefully to weave our way through a channel barely deep enough to float our boats. The sea was flat-calm enough to mirror the clouds – could this be saltwater?

Dungeness Bay, bordered by the Dungeness Spit and the Dungeness National Wildlife Refuge, is home to a wide assortment of wildlife. We routinely see seals here – even an occasional sea lion – as well as a lone coyote now and then. The water is so clear, you can spot crab crawling around on the bottom. But most amazing of all: the birds! It is said that over 250 species of birds live here; thousands upon thousands migrate through.

The spit itself is 5.5 miles long; you can walk its length on the western shore. The eastern side of the spit, and along the extension of Graveyard Spit, however, is off-limits to human traffic – which is why it is best to explore the area by the water side.

And as often as I have been there, on this particular day, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many birds so busy and so enjoying the morning!

Gulls, social creatures that they are, normally flock in the hundreds to maybe thousands. They seemed to be having a convention at the water’s edge, and everybody squawking about it. By contrast, an occasional solitary heron waded here and there.

A great variety of ducks: assorted scoters, scaups, merganzers, buffleheads, among them. The scoters are particularly humorous – they are a somewhat heavy bird that seems to have to run across the water to get enough speed for take-off, complaining about it the entire way.

The Caspian Terns have returned to the Northwest. They are a dramatic bird, rising to get momentum and then plummeting straight down to catch their fish in a splash! (That was definitely the picture that got away.) Their long sculpted wings with black tips, white sleek bodies, and bright red contrasting beaks give them a graceful elegance not seen in other birds.

Just as amazing, the flocks of Sanderlings with their coordinated display of aerial maneuvers. They fly in tight groups, first one direction, and then suddenly, an opposite direction. The sun catches the underside of their wings, making them flash silver in the light. They twist and turn erratically in the air, flashing bright, then dark, then bright again. How they can know when to turn is phenomenal.

Meanwhile, sandpiper-like birds scurry along the shore, poking their bills into the mud. Based on the dark underbelly, I think these must be Dunlins.

Lots of geese out, too. Flocks of geese, including the Black Brants, which are a true sea bird – they can drink saltwater – gather along the shoreline. The Canadian Geese are serene and almost tame on the lighthouse lawn.

And what would be the day without eagles? The more I am around them, the more I am attracted to the juveniles. From afar, I spotted a large piece of driftwood on the flats, but as I got closer, I realized it was this condor-sized juvenile eagle, brown and scruffy looking, unwilling to move until I approached too closely. A half-dozen of them hung out on a temporarily exposed island.

Back at the boat launch, several more hung out in the trees, waiting for an opportunity to steal fish scraps from the gulls. It always amazes me how smaller birds will boldly chase off these humongous birds of prey that could easily make mincemeat of them in mid-air, if they chose to do so.

I have to apologize for the quality of these pictures. They don’t even come close to capturing the day. I have a little Canon PowerShot, which is a good point-and-shoot camera that fits nicely in a waterproof housing. But on a sunny day (not that I am complaining about sunshine!), it is almost impossible to see the view screen, and trying to peer through the viewfinder is not much better. Any good shots I get are not from skill–just a lucky stab in the light.

By far, the best way to watch seabirds is not through a camera lens but from a kayak. It is much easier to quietly sneak up on them from the water or to pretend you are just some oversized log drifting along. I have yet to be successful capturing the beauty of this special place on film or pixel. Best to just get out and enjoy it!

Hats off to CoastSavers and the many supporting organizations (the Surfrider Foundation, the Olympic Coast National Marine Sanctuary, the Olympic National Park, the Clallam Bay-Sekiu Lions Club, and numerous local community groups, among others) for coordinating a very successful Coast Cleanup event on Saturday, April 18. There was a reported 22 TONS of trash collected by an estimated 1100 volunteers from beaches on the Strait and ocean sides of our coasts.

We signed up for one of the most beautiful, pristine beaches in the United States: Shi-Shi. The Makah Nation very generously gave a free parking pass to all cleanup participants on their Reservation, as well as free entrance to the museum (it was also the day of the first Eagle Festival – but that’s for another post).

Approximately 30 others had signed up for this particular beach, noted for its more difficult access on a basically flat 2-mile trail that starts out with a nice boardwalk but finishes sloshing through thick mud.

The view is worth it.

Shi-Shi is breathtaking. It is a place that is constantly changing, shaped by winds and tides, but remains timeless. Pinnacles of sculpted rocks dot the shoreline; waves crash and splash high in the air; sculpins and hermit crab scavenge amongst anemones in quiet tidepools; herons fish while wading in the shallows.

And at high-tide mark:  garbage. Flung on the beach during winter storms, plastic water bottles, plastic wine bottles, plastic jars, plastic scraps – plastic, plastic, and more plastic – and styrofoam in buoys, chunks, and crumbles – an old shoe, rubber hoses, food containers, fishing ropes and nets and gear – garbage that careless (read that could-care-less) people carelessly threw overboard to become an eyesore on one of the most gorgeous places on earth. Stained. The majority of it was bottles. Emptied, capped, and thrown overboard – not in an “oops!” moment – but deliberately thrown overboard.

We filled a backpack, 3 garbage bags, and hauled whatever else we could tie on or carry. Unfortunately, we left much behind. It was painful to do so.  We hauled what we could back up the trail, no longer caring about the mud squishing over the tops of our boots.

What kind of society have we become, so accustomed to our conveniences that we do not recognize we are smothering ourselves and everything we hold precious with our excess?

Plastic bottles are the curse of our existence. It doesn’t have to be that way. We don’t have to buy them. We can recycle them if we use them.

22 Tons. That’s from the Olympic Peninsula alone. I’m trying to grasp what that must look like. It’s not something I can get my mind around. We become numb to trash that is scattered here and there across 3200 miles of coastline in Washington State. It all piles up. And up and up and up.

It’s so easy to pack it out – not only what you’ve brought in, but also a little bit more.

Happy Earth Day, everyone. It’s a good time to think about what that means to each of us and to our grandchildren’s grandchildren.

Warning to all those headed to La Push and Forks, Washington: The area has been overrun with vampires and werewolves. Or perhaps they were lurking there all along and now we are more aware – or at least, should be aware – read that beware – of their presence!

One stoplight in the town of Forks can hardly handle the 3000 visitors at the Information Bureau last weekend … or so the locals tell me. Others are just glad to see human beings.

La Push beach has long been a favorite surf and picnic spot for our family. It is no longer as easily accessible; the rightful owners have turned the parking area by the baseball field into an RV hookup spot. Such is progress. You can still pay $5 to park at the store and walk to the beach from there.

First Beach at La Push is a special place. On this early April day before a full moon, it was an opportunity to watch the spring storms roll in from the outer Pacific on the swell of an incoming high tide.  If you inhale deeply that salty mist, tilt your head to face the wind, and peer across to the seastacks in the distance, who knows who or what you’ll see. Watching the sky turn colors with the changing tide — watching the wind blow the tops of the waves — simply mesmerizing. Hours quickly pass.

Not another lost soul on the beach, although I did see tracks of a very very large dog … perhaps … perhaps not?

Aka’lat Island (also known as James Island) is a safe haven for the spirits of the Quileute Ancestors, and has long been the fortress protecting the Quileute People.

Personally, I love walking the beaches, picking up rocks and driftwood. I love looking at old boats in harbors. Fishers here have seen hard times, and some of the boats have certainly seen better. But people were out sorting through gear, so perhaps hope for a better season and bigger fish are on the horizon.

And for those going to Forks? Yes, a sign out front says it IS indeed the “Home of the Spartans.”

Of course, it’s nothing like the fancy high school in the Twilight movie. In fact, a lot of things aren’t like the Twilight movie. For one thing, no Quileute tribal members are in it, and the movie is not filmed at La Push, Forks, Port Angeles, or places inbetween. Yes, according to legend, the Quileutes are descended from wolves, but werewolves – no thank you. The bit about the “Cold Ones” is fiction from Stephenie Meyer.

There are good things and bad things about turning a place into a movie set. Forks has seen difficult times with the decline of logging. It is experiencing a resurgence, which has been a real boost to the locals, even if some complain of traffic in their once-forgotten town at the edge of the rainforest.

My advice is, if you go to Forks, take time to visit La Push as well. It is a magical place steeped in a very rich culture. Support the Quileute economy: stop in at the store, visit with the people, buy something. Be respectful. Keep a check on reality.

It is a tragic thing to see dust gather on the satin finish of my Pygmy Arctic Tern. It has been a long winter. When the clouds parted long enough to remind us that yes, sunshine does exist in the soggy Pacific Northwest, we jumped at the chance to get our kayaks back into the water.

The easy launch off Ediz Hook provides a quick exit if the weather turns.  It is liberating to be floating once again! We glide smoothly on the surface, pushing ourselves ahead as we push the water behind us.

We are greeted by familiar sites and sounds: the screeching of gulls; a curious seal watching us from a distance; pilings at the pier, cornerstones of the harbor; the sloshing of the waves. We inhale deeply the familiar smells of drying seaweed and sealife surviving on the decay of the deceased.

Although we have kayaked around Port Angeles Harbor many times, there is always something interesting going on. It is an industrialized, busy port with an ancient history, set beneath the dramatic backdrop of the Olympic Mountains (today mostly hidden behind scattered clouds and a bit of a haze).

Big boats, little boats, everywhere boats. Three huge oil tankers, Coast Guard vessels, Pilot boats, tug boats, the Coho Ferry, and next to the tankers, our insect-sized kayaks (that’s a single-hulled ultimately maneuverable Romany Explorer alongside that colossal Polar Discovery double-hulled freighter).

It was a busy Saturday; everyone seemed to be taking advantage of the break in the weather. Even the gulls and cormorants enjoyed watching the ships.

We kept an eye on the paper mill smoke stack; blustery weather has been the norm lately; but other than the waves moving shoreward while the current pulled us outward, creating a dizzy sideways effect to our paddling, everything remained amazingly calm.

Sparkles on the water. Sunshine on my face. I can handle that.
Happy Spring!

Why we should have a need to escape when we already live in paradise is beyond me – but sometimes mini-vacations to places far removed from daily concerns and responsibilities are just the right kind of soul refreshers.

Copalis Beach is that kind of place.

March is the perfect time to visit. We had the beach all to ourselves. A minus tide revealed dozens of sand dollars. The sunsets were glorious. And the weather – well, we came for March storms, and that’s exactly what we experienced! Sand, snow, sleet, hail – all blowing horizontally – with wind gusts that blew the tops off waves and high into the air. It’s a place where shipwrecks and mysteries wash up on the beaches. The waves literally thundered on the shore and all through the night. We kicked back, played music and read by a crackling fire in a little cabin on a bluff overlooking the sea. The Iron Springs Resort may be a little run down, but for us, the perfect hideaway. An eagle even landed on a tree just outside our window. It just doesn’t get much better than that.

Copalis Beach is located on the Point Brown Peninsula. It is a peninsula of extremes. To the south is Ocean Shores, population near 4,000, a tourism community that has squeezed a condo or hotel onto every inch of shoreline. The further back from the beach, the taller they get to capture a view. Nearly 25 miles of canals thread through the peninsula not for irrigation, but so more people can have that waterfront view. The downtown streets are busy, lined with trinket attractions, catering to the summertime zoo.

If you’re looking for solitude, Ocean Shores is not it.

But there are two places of interest I would recommend: 1) The Interpretive Center, with well-done displays on Pacific Coast flora, fauna, geology, history, and more – even a video cam inside a nearby birdhouse; and 2) The Fusions Art Gallery, which features extraordinary photography by Stuart May and supports around 75 local and regional artists. If you are looking for local photography, art, and handmade things with a coastal flavor, the Fusions Art Gallery, although small, is outstanding inspiration.

At the opposite end of the Peninsula and opposite extreme of wealth and capitalism is the town of Taholah, population around 800, tribal center for the Quinault Nation. A pass to access Tribal beaches can be purchased at the police station, where walls are lined with posters about domestic violence, death by meth, and alcohol addictions, and a white person speaks to you on the other side of a round reinforced hole. I am sure the Quinault Nation faces challenges of most northwest tribes. They have limited resources; U.S. government policies have impoverished their people. They walk the same beaches, hunt, fish, and paddle the same waters as their ancestors, but they must survive in a much different world. I am sure there is much their elders can teach us if we are willing to listen.

In the 1850s, James Swan crossed Grays Harbor and walked these very beaches north to what was then called Point Grenville. He respected and befriended the local tribes. It is easy to imagine what it might have been like back then.

And although some might say the beaches on the southern Washington coast are a little boring, we say it’s the kind of boring we like:  just flat smooth sand as far as the eye can see – a low tide that stretches to the horizon – a high tide that splashes against cliffs – a great place to fly kites or dig razor clams – some even like to drive on the hard-packed sand. Go before winter ends and the summer craziness begins. Hunt for shipwrecks and mysteries from the deep. Walk the footsteps of James Swan. Learn about the local history and the local Quinault culture. Search for whales. Watch the storms roll in. Experience timelessness.

They are back! The call of the Trumpeter Swan is most certainly the call of the return of spring! You can tell the swans, pictured at left, by the black beak that extends up toward the eyes and by the trumpeting sound they make. The Snow Geese make a much more mellow sound.

Although hundreds, if not thousands of swans and geese can be seen in the Skagit Valley at this time of year, we, too, here in the Sequim-Dungeness Valley, are graced by their presence. It’s always exciting to see them return on their way north to their summer breeding grounds.

But just about the time I am dancing ecstactically over the discovery of our first crocus, we get dumped on by a foot of heavy wet snow. And I do mean wet and heavy. The kind that breaks tree branches. The kind that tells fruit trees to go back to sleep. The LBBs (little brown birds) hovered around the feeder under cover of discarded Christmas trees, waiting for me to finish taking the picture so they could get some seed.

Of course, in light of what the East Coast is enduring, we can hardly complain. But it is still a reminder, even as I gleefully buy packet after packet of veggie and flower seeds, more than I can possibly plant, as I get out my nautical charts and kayak adventure guide books, and as I start planning our next mini-vacation escape – hold on – not so fast – Old Man Winter has not exhaled his last breath. Don’t forget your hat.

The Ozette to Pacific Coast triangle has got to be one of the most beautiful day hikes on the Olympic Peninsula. We picked a rare day in February near the full moon when the tides were at extreme lows and highs and the weather relatively balmy (and on a weekend, no less!). We would be hitting the coast at an outgoing tide, and although both extremes have their advantages, walking the beach at high tide can require taking overland routes to avoid being crashed into cliffs or sucked out to sea. It is good to check the tide charts.

For those who have not been there, the trail starts at the Lake Ozette ranger station. The north fork is approximately 3 miles to Cape Alava, the south is 3 miles to Sandpoint, and they are connected by 3 miles of ocean beaches. Both routes follow a sometimes slippery, cedar-plank boardwalk over bog and rivulets, bordered by ferns, salal, and towering cedars and spruce. To look up at these trees is dizzying; three adults cannot reach around their trunks; you get a glimpse of how the cedars played such an important role in Native American life.

You emerge from the deep, dark woods, to a brilliant oceanscape that extends beyond the curve of the earth.

Dotting the landscape are sea stacks, at high tide surrounded by crashing surf and at low tide by tidepools, each a small universe of sea life. With hardly a soul around, we had the beach mostly to ourselves to share with eagles, kingfishers, gulls, sanderlings, oystercatchers, and the cormorants airing their wings in the afternoon sun. I have seen whales, seals, and sea lions from this beach, but not on this particular occasion. We were wishing we had brought our tent and bags to be able to watch the changing sky and listen to the surf through the night; however, we had to keep up our pace to be able to make the entire 9 miles before dark.

The highlight of our trip was finding some of the Makah petroglyphs. Located about midway down the beach is a cluster of rocks near the shore called the “wedding rocks,” and on the face of some of these are carvings chiseled an estimated 300-500 years ago. There are, I am told, over 40 different carvings. Surprisingly, one is on a rather large, flat sandstone rock just laying on the beach. I somehow expected them to be higher up, further out to sea.

To stumble upon them is to suddenly be hit with the sacredness of this place and with the realization that we are intruders in another’s home. People lived here for thousands of years. They faced storms, torrential rains, and a mudslide that tragically wiped out an entire village. They survived by skill, wit, and strength. They had families, they helped one another, they honored their elders. Who were these artists? What was it like to live in their time? What can we learn from them?

Regardless of how you feel about whale hunting, these petroglyphs are graphic evidence that whales, seals, sea lions, eagles – the sea in all its vengeance and glory – the sun and the moon – and the stories that bound them all together – were the breath and life of these early people. With a spirituality shaped by nature, whales were revered, a part of their culture, and a key to their survival. After all this time, these ancient peoples still speak to us.

And today – and any day like today – white folks like me are merely visitors. Let us not forget that.

February is my favorite time to hike the Ozette triangle, to scavenge beach glass and Olivella shells among the multicolored stones, to scramble over logs and jump the rocks between tidepools, to smell the salty air and listen to the breathing of the ocean, to come to the end of the earth and reconnect with that which is timeless.

Hurricane Ridge is a magical place where you can look across valleys to faraway mountaintops, watch the morning mist snake its way along the river between the folds of hills, and stare at the watercolored sky as it changes from golden pinks to greenish blues and grays.

Sometimes I forget this spectacular vista is right out my back door. I rarely go there in summer when the tourists clog the roadways. January, however, is perfect: the air is crisp, the contrast is bold, and all is muffled quiet.

Already almost the middle of January! Time to get out!

From the lodge, we could see with the naked eye an avalanche in the Lillian Valley on the other side. It must have been huge and absolutely roaring. The spray of snow was like a small cloud above it. Avalanche warnings on the Ridge were rated “considerable” – and although we were unlikely to venture in places of risk, it was good to keep in mind.

We strapped on our snowshoes and headed slightly northwest through the woods toward Hurricane Hill (away from the ski area). The trail is wide; in warmer days, it would be a simple drive but is now a clearing through a winter wonderland. Occasionally passed by a cross-country skier, we preferred the slower pace of walking, stopping at overlooks that opened between the trees.

We stopped for coffee at what would normally be a busy campground but was now a sanctuary of solitude. Or not. As we pulled out our snacks, we noticed a gray jay on a nearby branch. Then two. Three. Four. More…. 12 jay birds, all eyeing our every bite. Bold, very friendly, very hungry jay birds, inconspicuously seemed to appear out of nowhere. Jay birds that survive the harshest of winter conditions (WHY do you stay here?) Opportunists in this reality called survival.

Most of the heavy snow from the trees had been blown away or fallen off, but here and there huge globs (for lack of a better word) of heavy compacted snow several feet thick clung to tree tops bent over with the burden. The winters here can be harsh and unforgiving. There is a reason it is called “Hurricane” Ridge, and as we headed back, the wind was already picking up and dark clouds moving in from the West.

We all have our “get healthy” resolutions that take one form or another. Mine, this year, is simply to GET OUT.  The health, exercise, and attitude will naturally follow. It is so easy to get so wrapped up in the day-to-day stuff that we forget to take time to enjoy what others drive miles and miles to experience. Looking back, that day-to-day stuff is quite forgettable. It just gets in the way of appreciating what is out your back door:  the kinds of things memories are really made of.

An August afternoon

Mountains hidden behind the haze of summer; the tiny glimmer of a lighthouse, reflecting like a star in the distance. Water calm enough to float a feather.

And then…

A sudden splash echoes across the silence.

A head emerges

And then another . . . And another…

SEALS! Lots of them! Too many to count! They keep diving under and circling around us.

And what is that growling from yonder shore? (It sounds like a gargling raven – only louder and more ferocious!). Protective bulls. We keep our distance.

Wary herons watch from an opposite shore. There are at least 6 of them. I am lucky to quietly sneak up on one.

A sandpiper is busy at the water’s edge

And then a rare sight…Black Oystercatchers! We stare at one another. Their red eyes do not blink.

A congregation of gulls chatter about the moment and then burst into flight!

My Pygmy Arctic Tern glides effortlessly through the deep green waters. My partner’s Romany Explorer looks long and sleek in the changing light.

It is a perfect day..

Some run with wolves.

Some soar with eagles.

We paddle with seals.

I am still on a high from watching those eagles dip and dance in the sky! I strongly suggest you take the link to the Picasa slide show, turn it down (or speed it up) to 1-second intervals, and sit back – it’s almost like watching the movie. They love to fly in formation. Incredible!

Here’s the link again: Backyard Eagles