Bristlecone Pine Forest

 

My New Favorite Bristlecone
(Click to view larger.)

There was a big fire down on Irving Street the night before we got up at 3 a.m. last week to drive across the Sacramento Valley in the cool darkness, on our way to the Bristlecone Pine Forest. We thought nothing of the screaming fire engines (being a common sound around here) until we headed down the hill this morning to pick up a couple of things at Progress Hardware, get some coffee beans at The Beanery, have breakfast at Crepevine, and pick up some berries at the farmer's market. That's when we found the hardware store boarded up and smelling of fire.

Anyway, our drive across the valley last Wednesday was blissfully serene. The early wake-up is not a problem for me, but I was glad my wife went along with it. When we crossed back yesterday during the heat of the day, my car thermometer registered outside temps of 95 most of the way, to a high of 100 just west of Altamont Pass. The air conditioning saved us, but driving in heavy traffic under a blaring sun, especially after a few days in nature, was a chore. Somewhere east of Dublin my wife checked her traffic app and told me it would take more than seven hours to get home. We thought there must be a hellish accident ahead, plus the Outside Lands concert traffic. My heart sank, and I cursed the valley, swearing never again to cross it during the day.

And then my wife realized she had the app set for bicycling.... Luckily, the drive turned out to be a merely ordinary horror.

We retraced some of the stops I made last year when I was out that way in July and October, and I was able to do that very quickly since the light wasn't great anyway. I'd expected to take more time at Blue Canyon near Sonora Pass, but my wife wasn't able to jump across the creek to join me for a short wildflower walk. Nevertheless, she agreed to hang out while I made a quick recon and snapped a few frames, hustling along the trail in the thin mountain air. I figured I could drive back up there if it looked really promising, but what I saw didn't look worth the effort of another long drive on top of the hundreds of miles already being logged on the Bristlecone trip.

We found a site big enough for our enormous tent, a North Face Wawona 6 that I call The Great Pumpkin, at the Grandview Campground, which is about six miles from the Bristlecone Pine Forest visitor center. The suggested donation just increased from $5 to $10, but it's still a bargain. There's no water, but the pit toilets were clean, and the mountain air was so crystal-clear you felt like you could practically see things down to their atomic structure. The campground filled up on Friday as regular folks came for the weekend and astronomy buffs came for the Perseid meteor shower scheduled for Saturday. We met a guy with a telescope built for looking directly at the sun, but it was cloudy at the time, and then it rained, and we never got to look through it.

We hiked the four-mile Methuselah Trail loop from the visitor center, and I carried my FZ80 in one hand and a bottle of water in the other. The bottle was empty by the time we finished the loop. We ran into some folks who were thinking about doing the hike in tennis shoes and with no water, so I showed them my empty bottle and told them it started out full. And we had started out earlier in the day. They kept going at first, but we saw that they'd returned even before we were done looking up plants in the visitor center.

The next day a "Paint Out" was scheduled with the artist Mary Matlick, and my wife had brought her paints and easel and wanted to check it out. The sky was threatening rain, but Mary showed up. She'd been a ranger there in the past and has several fairly large works in the visitor center, so she wasn't put off. My wife was the only other participant, though. I went off and did photography while they painted, but it wasn't long before a thunderstorm began to move in. My wife was dismantling her easel to take cover in the visitor center just as I drove back to check up on her. A light rain fell while she got everything in the car, finishing just as the storm let loose with bb-sized hail and heavier rain.

After the rain passed and we ate some lunch out of the cooler (the two gallon-sized water bags I'd frozen at home lasted the whole trip), we drove up the dirt road toward the Patriarch Grove. We knew that snow blocked the road a mile short of the grove, but we didn't plan to go that far anyway. We stopped near a nice-looking (i.e., gnarly and ancient) bristlecone where I thought I could get a good angle with the mountains in the background. But when I reached the tree I saw that a small hill was blocking the long view. I walked to the top of the little hill and saw and even nicer-looking tree not too far off. That's the tree at the top of this post.

Fire-scarred landscape along Stanislaus River near Dardanelle.

Re-visiting a gorge west of Sonora Pass that I'd visited last October.

Goldenrod, onions, paintbrush, and lupine catch some late-morning backlight along the trail to Blue Canyon.

Wild onion along the trail to Blue Canyon.

We made our lunch stop here at the Leavitt Falls scenic overlook, which has one of the most well-placed picnic tables in the Sierra.

That's the falls in the right third of the frame.

As I was poking around in the meadow of buckwheat and sage at Grandview Campground I couldn't help going back to the car to get my camera.

Buckwheat & Sage

Buckwheat Flyer

Ah, nectar of the gods.

We hiked up a hill near camp and found this seemingly manicured juniper tree. We were surprised to find we had cell service from this spot, and we'd find an even better signal higher up the mountain.

The view looking southeast from a scenic overlook.

There was still quite a bit of snow on the mountains of the Eastern Sierra.

View of Eastern Sierra from the White Mountains.

Buckwheat and green ephedra (aka Mormon tea) at the scenic overlook.

Panorama stitched from frames shot with 300mm lens.

Crepuscular rays over the town of Bishop.

Weather in the Mountains
(That might be Mt. Whitney on the right.)

I wished the sun would have set farther south, where the more interesting mountain ridges were, but you gotta love "god beams" wherever they shine.

Despite all the clouds in the morning, noon, and evening, the skies were pretty much clear at night. The best night-sky viewing was our first night, before any of the moisture blew in. Even without a cloud in the sky, there was enough moisture in the atmosphere to dim the stars.

Bristlecone pine clings to life along the Methuselah Trail.

After getting skunked last year, I finally got to see what bloomed from these weird, green mats growing like lichen along the trail: rock spiraea (Petrophytum caespitosum).

I got buzzed a few times by sphynx moths that were attracted to my blue water bottle, and then in the predawn it was my blue down parka. Red thistle (Cirsium nidulum) was where the nectar was.

I was up before sunrise and decided to take a walk down to the southern edge of the campground where I'd noticed this excellent lone pinyon pine the day before.

Pinyon Pine

Pinyon pine with fiery sunrise cloud.

Pinyon pine with morning sun striking storm clouds in the west.

Mormon tea (Ephedra viridis) in bloom.

After the rain shut down the "Paint Out," I went back to an especially beautiful bristlecone pine on the edge of the visitor center parking lot. I'd hoped to have a bonus of raindrops hanging from the foliage, but the rain had mostly slipped off the leaves and male (pollen-bearing) cones.

It's anatomically female.

I was looking for compositions down the road from the visitor center while my wife painted, when I saw an iridescent blue thing in one of the bristlecone pines. I put my glasses on and saw what looked like a bird ornament that someone had tossed in there. It looked so lifelike, but it didn't move. I went back to the car for my long lens and confirmed that it was a real live bird. It hardly moved, presumably having taken refuge from the recent thunderstorm. Finally, another of its kind showed up. It chirped in surprise when it saw me, and the chirp sent this one skittering deeper into the crown and out of sight.

Bushy Linanthus (Leptosiphon nuttallii, formerly Linanthus nuttallii).

One bristlecone weathers the storm, while another simply weathers.

Linanthus and Coyote Mint along the unpaved section of White Mountain Road.

The visitor center had pictures of lots of local flora, but I couldn't find a match for this one, which I figure is in the pink family (possibly Palmer's catchfly, Silene bernardina).

Rolling Thunder

This is probably the most gnarled and striking bristlecone pine I've ever seen.

Here it is again, with younger generations keeping it company.

Trunk Detail

Twisting Toward the Sun

More Trunk Detail

Scenic Overlook

Sage with faint rainbow and distant downpour.

The Great Pumpkin
(We slept on an air mattress inside, with lots of room for gear and headroom for standing up. To escape the rain, we moved our chairs into the front vestibule which, all by itself, is about the size of a normal 2-person tent.)

My wife found this longhorn beetle while we were taking down the tent. A woman with her family was camped next to us, and she was really into photographing bugs. Her license plate was personalized along insect lines. She'd have loved to see this, but they had already left by the time we broke camp to make the long drive home.

* * *

Falling

 

Fallen Leaves

My seven-year-old computer seems to have entered the autumn of its life. No longer will it allow me to connect to the internet, or do a factory reset. I have a new computer on order but won't get it for a couple of weeks, so I'm using my Kindle Fire to post this. 

I was surprised to find yellow leaves on the ground below our backyard hazel tree the other day, on the last day of July. Nevertheless, the overall appearance of the hazel is still very green, and it will be late November before the last of the green has faded away.

The best thing going on out back has been the profusion of huckleberries on our lone plant, which is now around fifteen years old. My wife made pancakes with our first harvest. We're trying to think of something else to make with the next one.

Anyway, it looks like posting with the tablet actually works, but it's not likely I'll do it again. Hopefully I'll have my new machine shortly after we get back from our next trip.

Hazel Leaves

Huckleberries

Coco heard me having fun and decided to come join me...

* * *

July Camera Traps

 

Bobcat in the Woods
(2-image composite)

I realized I'd worn the wrong shoes as I climbed the steep hillside to reach my new camera traps this morning. I decided to ride up to Mt. Tam in my old running shoes instead of my hiking shoes so my feet would be cooler, but  those soft, slick soles were no match for the steep and slippery forest.

Nevertheless, despite having to swat at gnats and horse flies, it was good to be up on the mountain again. About two seconds after I thought it seemed like jackrabbit weather, a lithe brown hare loped lazily across the road in front of me. I saw another one when I was resting next to the picnic tables at Rock Spring. 

I was standing in the shade of a large Doug fir when the second hare came into view. I watched as it moved closer to me while feeding, apparently oblivious of my presence. My FZ-80 was still in my bike bag as I watched, so I had to make a choice. I could remain still and see how close the rabbit would come, or I could go get the camera and hope the rabbit was in fact aware of my presence and had no intention of racing away. Or to put it another way, I could just enjoy the experience of quietly watching, or I could go for the photo. 

I suspect that my choice failed the nature-karma test because I got the camera but missed the experience. The jackie was gone.

About six hours after the bobcat, a coyote passed through.

You don't often see such many-tined antlers on the bucks of Mt. Tamalpais.

Pretty sure this is the same buck a few days later.

Here's a brief video capture of the big guy.

At first I thought this was a "nothing" frame.

Hot times on Mt. Tamalpais. Barbecue season is over.

On my way home through the Presidio I stopped to observe the antics of a young hawk who landed on a nearby pine. Apparently the top-most perch was a little too unsteady.

Ah, that's better.

Bird royalty.

* * *

Lily Patch, Take 2

 

Sunlight in the Lily Patch

The Queen Speaks

Precision Flying

Part of the Patch (50mm View)

Pebbles from the Salish Sea

* * *

Lily Patch

 

Hummers in the Leopard Lilies
(Click images to view larger.)

It would have been a beautiful day to bike up to Mt. Tam to place my trail cameras in a new location, but I figured the leopard lilies would be in full bloom and hopefully swarming with hummingbirds. Experience with the FZ-80 has shown that it's not really up to the challenge, so I drove up to Rock Spring with my DSLR. It took a minute for the hummers to get used to my presence (along with the jarring mirror-slaps every time I tripped the shutter), but after a while they paid me no mind.

I couldn't get an angle on the lilies with the sun at my back, so I had to shoot mostly into the sun. That worked fine for photographing the leopard lilies which looked good back-lit, but proved quite tricky for the hummers. Biting horse flies, prickly grass seeds, and sneaky stinging nettles also added to the challenge. 

Bright Lilies, Shadowy Forest

Queen of the Lily Patch

Lilies With Slightly Tattered Pale Swallowtail

Dancing With Lilies

Hummer Perching on Lily's Style

In addition to the lilies, the hummers also appeared to nip a few insects from some meadow rue that had gone to seed, and sipped from the purple flowers of large leatherroot (Hoita macrostachya). Apparently it is a host plant for sphynx moth, which might explain why the "hummer" that ran into my leg turned out to be a sphynx moth, the first I've ever seen on Mt. Tam. Unfortunately I was unable to photograph it.

Letting Gravity Do Some of the Work

* * *

Olympic National Park

 

View toward the Bailey Range from Hurricane Ridge.

Having visited the Hoh Rainforest at Olympic National Park many years ago, I wanted to check out the Hurricane Ridge area on this trip. Unfortunately we lost a good part of the first day because I hadn't realized we'd need to make a ferry crossing and had failed to reserve a spot when I made the hotel reservations. We spent about four-and-a-half hours waiting for a stand-by slot to open up, and even then only barely got on. 

By the time we made the lovely drive out to Port Angeles, the only exploring we wanted to do involved finding a good restaurant for dinner. We had to wait in line for that too! Fortunately we were able to spend the waiting time in the excellent Port Books & News, where I picked up a couple of the "staff picks" which seemed right up my alley (Whiskey When We're Dry, by John Larison, and The Golden Spruce, by John Vaillant).

The Hurricane Ridge Visitor Center burnt down just two months ago, and the park was allowing only 170 cars to go up at a time. We were number 82 and quickly passed through the entrance. There would be a long line of cars waiting to get in by the time we left.

Going up high was such a different experience than the Hoh Rainforest. We had forested mountain vistas all around. On one of our short walking excursions at the top, we met a guy who told us he'd just seen a mountain lion chase some deer. I didn't doubt him, but my wife didn't believe it. However, when we stopped to investigate a creekside trail with a sign warning people not to hike alone because a mountain lion had been seen in the area, she waited for me to finish shooting pictures along the road so I could accompany her explorations.

We descended the ridge and drove over to the Elwha River to check out the lowlands. Winter storms had taken out part of the road, but we didn't have to go very far to find the small but excellent Madison Falls. We had seen some incredible forest on the drive between Port Townsend and Port Angeles (with nowhere to pull over and explore), and I held out hope for finding such a place without having to go all the way out to the Hoh. The Peabody Creek Trail next to the visitor center just outside Port Angeles was as close as we came, but it was fairly tame (and a difficult place to find compositions).

We had a very long drive home from way up there along the Salish Sea. Thankfully only Portland and the Bay Area presented any traffic nightmares. We spent a night half-way back in Ashland, Oregon, where we had dinner at a place called Sauce, where I was surprised to sit next to a table in this land-locked little town, famous for its summertime Shakespeare Festival, to overhear two guys talking  about surfing, specifically current events regarding the well-known John John Florence and his brother at South Africa's Jeffreys Bay. 

Over the course of our trip we spent 20+ hours enjoying the audio book version of Demon Copperhead, by Barbara Kingsolver, which left both of us speechless and joyfully teary-eyed at the end. I get choked up again just thinking about how good that story was.

Look Ma, no clearcuts!

Roadside color on the way to Hurricane Ridge.

Roadside attraction, with very little traffic in the early morning.

Lots of orchids and paintbrush in the seeps.

Stout orchid along a creekside trail where mountain lions lurk.

These purple guys sprouting out of wet moss look like a cross between shooting stars and penstemon.

There was another patch of purple wildflowers (possibly Harebell, Campanula rotundifolia) near the top of Hurricane Ridge.

A couple of young women were doing radio-tracking along the Elwha River, and I wondered if they were tracking birds or mammals. It was neither. They were tracking bull trout. I hadn't realized they radio-tagged fish.

Madison Falls

Bigleaf maple along the Elwha River.

Just another sunny day on the Olympic Peninsula.

Leaves as big as dinner plates along the Peabody Creek Trail.

* * *