Signs of Spring: Part 3

The last few days have been incredibly rainy-I guess the weather is making up for all the sunshine of last week! Many flowers took advantage of that sun to bloom; Oregon Grape, Trillium and violets now decorate the forest floor.

Gamebirds

The turkey's have reached new milestones this week. They had their first trip outside. They are always begging to be out of their cage in the kitchen, but hesitated to leave the safety of the cage in the out of doors. Before they left their cage they were peering up at the extinguished heat lamp as the sun warmed them. They seemed puzzled as to the source of the heat!

Signs of Spring: part 2

Spring is definitely closing in on Southwest Washington. The grass is turning green and buds are swelling on every tree. Gardens are turning a vivid yellow as daffodils burst into bloom. 

Beyond Ridge Camp: A proposal for new trails near Mt. St. Helens

Minnie Peak from near Ridge Camp

A bleak tundra extends before me, a wasteland of twisted stumps, wind blasted scrub growing in among rusted relics of a forgotten age. Behind me, dark moors rise out of sight into low hanging clouds; before me, the gray plateau drops precipitously into the coiling fog. This is not some scene from a post-apocalyptic Sci-fi novel, and mutated beasts do not lurk amongst the foggy crags (at least, not so far as I know). This is the hinterland of Ridge Camp, a bleak and lonely destination high in the Mt. St. Helens blast zone.

Signs of spring: part 1

Spring is nearly upon us!

The first Crocus bloomed on Wednesday, and buds are welling on daffodils, trees and bushes. The bees are stirring in their boxes and the hazelnut tree is draped in golden flowers. Over the last week our pasture has changed from grey to verdant green. The peacocks are calling and fanning their tales and flocks of birds are flying in from the south, filling the morning air with song.  

Confessions of a Bibliophilic Hiker

By Andy Zahn  

   

     

      When I was twelve years old, I found a book while digging through the spider infested boxes in our garage. It was called 100 hikes in the South Cascades and Olympics by Harvey Manning and Ira Spring. Ten years later, my collection has expanded to over 70 books covering trails in every corner of the mountains of the West Coast. One of my projects during the long dreary months of this winter was to move all my books from a sagging, overburdened shelf to a new set of shelves. In the process, I realized that just as these books shaped the shelf, they have shaped many aspects of my life.

From Behemoths to Bantams: Backpacking through the ages

Grandad with his pack basket

      As my uncle heaved his pack up over a 6 foot high granite ledge to me, I realized the reason for his weariness. This ancient wicker behemoth with who-knows-what filling its cavernous depths must have weighed a ton! The two shoulder straps were padded only by thin, decaying leather-there was no hip strap, no pockets, frame or high tech air-cooling trampoline. It was a relic of a simpler age of backpacking.

     This ancient piece of equipment once belonged to my grandfather, a veteran of World War II. He was a foot soldier in that war-trudging through the mud and blood of the battlefields of France. There he carried an 80 pound machine gun in addition to his own gear, so he was no stranger to heavy loads.

       After the war, Grandad became a fire lookout in Idaho. Being a lookout in those days was not a job for day-dreaming poets. When he spotted a fire, Grandad would set out cross country with a Pulaski, radio, and rations, among other equipment, all of which weighed over 70 pounds, to fight the fire himself. When his lookout days were over, he took up backpacking with his family. Their gear was army surplus, and Grandad carried almost everything in that wicker pack that my uncle still carries- two 20 pound down sleeping bags and cast iron cookware (my mother and her sisters carried only small rucksacks with their own cotton sleeping bags), but after carrying machine guns during the war and firefighting gear on the lookout, Grandad wouldn’t have complained about the weight.