Walking Seattle: Garden Whimsey and Peek-a-boo Pets

 

Last year I blogged about all the garden art and gnomes I spied while walking around my northwest corner of Seattle. I'm back again, revisiting and searching for new gems. This time pets crept into my photos, lurking and lounging as I passed by.

As I mentioned last year, looking for garden art really makes my walks feel like a treasure hunt. And since I started seeing more cats (and a few dogs), it brought a whole new level of happy hunting to my walks.

Since coyotes are a real and present danger to cats in the 'hood, I thankfully saw very few wandering on their own. In the last few months, I even trapped a young stray who was then happily adopted into a good home.

So without further rambling, let's get going.

Spotting a cat (or even less commonly, a dog) is a rare treat now in north Seattle. Besides the coyotes, racoons and owls can prey on them. On an hour+ ramble one late afternoon, this black cat was one just two cats that I saw. While black cats don't get adopted as easily, I think they're gorgeous.

While gnomes are the most popular figurine in Seattle yards, frogs seem to be a close second (by my unofficial, off-the-cuff estimation).

 

A month or two ago, I passed by The Goblin Pub (above), which is quite enchanting in the care that was put into creating this neighborhood watering hole. (I assume gnomes are allowed.) I suggest you enlarge the photo of the interior below to see the incredible detail...a restroom door, a mural on the back wall, taps for the different drinks, the patrons, and more.

The likely proprietors of the pub live behind the gate below, which I think also looks like something out of a fairy tale.

The cheerful glass daisies below are a favorite from my spring wanderings this year. I know they were made by the glass artist who lives in that home (we share a mutual friend). And see that little pink gnome in the window flower box?

This super handsome orange boy (pretty sure it's a boy based on size) below matched his porch wood stain color. His owners must have planned it. :)

The lovely tabby in the window below is what started my quest to spot pets on  walks. I assumed they would mostly be in windows, but there were a few porch cats too.

And perhaps Kermit, deeply contemplating the meaning of life reminiscent of Rodin's famous The Thinker sculpture, has inspired the profusion of frog art?

Now this, my friends, is some serious yard gnomery. Or, as my friend Suezy informed me, a very large donsy of gnomes. A friend told me about the raised bed full of gnomes, so I had to check out it for myself.

Yes, there are dogs in a few windows. These pups live just down the street from me, and I often see them out walking their human dad. (This isn't the sharpest image but a smartphone snap.)

This sweet pup was very good mannered and wistfully watched me passing by. I wished I had a ball or stick to throw over the fence for it.

I can't claim the shot below, but it's so alluring I have to include (shot taken by my friend Corey somewhere near Woodland Park Zoo in NW Seattle). Look at that...dragon(?) face, what a character!

And figurine or real cat? At least floofy kitty was posing like a figurine.

I could post many more images, but I'll leave it for now. I'll continue to hunt for pets and quirky or even beautiful yard art on my walks. Maybe this will become an annual post on this blog (at my current rate, my only post per year)? Want more?

I'd love to hear about your favorite yard art/pets/what you see in your neighborhood in a comment below!

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.  

Pandemic 2020: Re-emerging, Getting Outdoors, and Recreating Responsibly

 With national parks and forests, state parks, and city parks closed for a couple months this spring, many of us urban dwellers were pining to get outdoors for real. Although things started reopening in May, I decided to re-emerge even more gradually.

While Washington was in lockdown for over 2 months, I did a lot of walking/exploring close to home. I didn't fill up my car gas tank from late March to late May. But in June, well, Juneuary weather or not, I finally started to stray farther afield.

It has been beyond wonderful to see some favorite places/trails again and explore a few new places, while striving to recreate responsibly (physical distancing as much as possible and masking up around others). And honestly, these outings are a shred of normalcy in these strange days. 

The First Escape from Seattle

My first foray outside the Seattle city limits in over 3 months was a trip to the Issaquah Alps on a rainy, stormy (thunder and lightning) morning. With the sometimes scary weather (one bolt of lightning was so close it sounded like three gunshots in quick succession overhead), we only saw a couple other joggers in two hours on the trail.

The vivid spring green was a welcome dose of Vitamin N.

The Birds and Me in the Rain

A week later I took a solo trip up to the Skagit River Delta for another walk in a driving rain. The marshy river delta was rich green with late spring, and I walked along levees in solitude, passing a few birds hunkered down (a great blue heron, swallows, and red-winged blackbirds are what I could identify).

I reveled in the escape from traffic noises and the wide open, rain-soaked space.  An occasional distraction were a few jets from nearby Naval Air Station Whidbey Island passing overhead.

The Scenic Drive

About a week later I drove even farther north to Bellingham to take my kayak for repairs. On the scenic drive home, I stopped for a hike off lovely Chuckanut Drive that winds along the sea. 

This bluebird day was much needed. The view shown below is reason #237 why I love living in my home state. I also stopped at Snow Goose Produce on the way home for fresh wild, local shrimp.

The Getaway

Just a couple days later, my first overnight away from Seattle since late December was way overdue. I returned to Port Townsend, where I walked in the woods with friends and helped my aunt celebrate her birthday (all outdoors of course). Although Anderson Lake south of Port Townsend is closed, I snuck in a 30-minute walk skirting the south lake shoreline.

Around Port Townsend, it was quieter than it would normally be nearing peak tourist season. My lodging for the night was the historic and comfortable Palace Hotel on Water Street, where I had a view of the Keystone ferry to Whidbey Island skimming across the Salish Sea outside my window. I brought greens from my garden and other provisions to share with my aunt in her back yard rather than trying to dine out.

There were definitely people around town, but it wasn't crowded by any means. Sunday morning, however, when I stopped for tea and a late breakfast from Cafe Tenby (formerly Pippa's Real Tea), a line gathered outside. And on the drive back to Seattle Sunday evening, there was definitely a wait for the ferry.

The Real Deal

And finally, for the first time since...last fall, a real hike this past weekend. We strayed farther east up the I-90 corridor toward Snoqualmie Pass for a 2,300-foot grind upward through thick, mossy second-growth forest into sub-alpine old-growth forest with raindrop-kissed wildflowers.

As we ascended higher through the rain, the foggy/misty forest was especially magical. In the background, silhouettes of trees hovered like benign ghosts.

When we came to a dicey snow bridge crossing an avalanche gully, we decided to call it a day and head back down. It was 4.5 hours of hiking, with almost 5,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, which was fine for three rusty hikers.

Thankfully the rain kept the crowds down on the trail, and most everyone we passed was thoughtful about distancing. (It was the seventh weekend in a row here with rain, which a true Mossback doesn't mind.)

So it's not completely back to normal, but it's good to be back outdoors. Next up, a great way to get outside and distance: kayaking.

Always trying to get the shot.

How about you? Are you getting out and being/feeling safe?

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news. 

Eclipse 2017: In Celebration of a Family Farm, Friends, and Pure Awe

The "diamond ring" emerging from totality. Photo by Allen Denver.

In today's hyper-speed news cycles, the 2017 total eclipse that sliced across the USA on August 21 is old news. But in the days since, I've been replaying that amazing 1 minute and 48 seconds in my mind, lingering over the too-brief spectacle.

It was the most thrilling, mind-bending, magnificent natural event I've ever experienced.

The bonus? It capped a wonderful weekend on a family farm in the Willamette Valley filled with happy, interesting people, great food, and kick-back fun.  Life doesn't get much better.

Over 40 people and 7 dogs converged on the farm situated conveniently in the path of totality. We ranged in age from 6 to almost 80. Many of us pitched tents in the orchard, some slept in RVs and campers, while others lodged in the barn.

As people arrived over several days from Seattle, Portland, and even Santa Cruz, California, it was fun to meet old friends and make new ones. As Tonia said, it was like "a family reunion with the people you like even though some of us had never met."

Some went hiking and exploring in this beautiful, pastoral patch of the valley near Silverton, and some stayed close to relax, cook, or read. Several kids picked fat, sun-ripened blackberries for pie, which hostess extraordinaire Mary Lou helped them make.



The taste of late summer in the Pacific Northwest.

Although there was a possibility of clouds, I awoke before sunrise on Monday morning and peeked out of my tent to see sweet clear skies. As fast as possible, I threw on a fleece sweater and jeans, grabbed my cameras, and ran out in the morning quiet to shoot the sunrise, my favorite time of day.

 

Eclipse day sunrise - minus 4 hours.

After another hearty breakfast of farm fresh bacon, eggs, fruit, pancakes, and more, the anticipation edged up several notches.  We spread out in a couple open fields and patches with good views to the east, set up chairs and cameras, got out our eclipse glasses, and watched as the moon slowly crept across the sun in tiny but increasingly large increments.

Sheet spread out to catch the post-eclipse wave shadows.

About half an hour in, the light started to visibly dim, the temperature dropped, and a slight breeze picked up. I reached for my jacket and put it on.

As the moon encroached more over the sun, the light was unlike anything I've seen, as if someone turned down the dimmer switch in the sky.

Shortly before totality the roosters started crowing, and I heard what sounded like an owl hooting from the patch of woods behind the field. A short hush fell while the last sliver of light faded from view, as if everyone held an intake of breath for an extra second.

When I could no longer see any light at all through the eclipse glasses, I tore them off.

That first stunning glimpse of a big black circle in the black sky, surrounded by the white glow of the sun's corona shimmering outward in delicate filaments of light, will forever be seared in my mind. 

(For you art history types, it reminded me a bit of the dramatic crown of thorns in Grunewald's famous Eisenheim alterpiece, only more exquisitely gossamer.)

All the photos I've seen don't quite capture it. But they're close.

Totality. Photo by Allen Denver.

People whooped, I heard what sounded like a bomb or fireworks go off in the distance, and I found myself bouncing around, saying to no one in particular, "THIS IS SO AWESOME!!"

I'd heard people say to look around, so I did. In this instant predawn/dusk, there was a tinge of red on the horizon in every direction. 

Then I grabbed my camera and snapped some shots, put the camera down, put on my regular sunglasses and gazed up at that wondrous sight above again. I remember thinking, if this was a few thousand years ago and I didn't know what caused this, it would be a fearsome sight indeed.

Far too soon totality was over. I wanted more.

Some of us drove away quickly to try and beat traffic (no such luck) and some people stayed another night at the farm. I waited until after dinner and headed north at 6 pm. After 8 long hours on the road without a break, I pulled up to my home in Seattle at 2 a.m.

Of course I want to see another total eclipse now. Next time I wouldn't try to take any photos and would instead focus more on the sun and surrounding sky during totality, without sunglasses. I'd heard conflicting things about the safety of viewing without any protective lenses during totality (consensus: it's safe). As a result, I missed seeing the stars in the background around the sun.

So how about you? Did you make it to the totality zone and see this spectacular phenomenon? If so, how did you react or feel? Would love to hear about your experience in a comment below.

And perhaps Chile in 2019?

Photo by Allen Denver.

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.

Thanks to Allen Denver for letting me use some of his great eclipse photos. And extra special thanks to our generous and gracious hosts Mary Lou and Ben.

Northwest Images: Earlybird Gets the Sunrise

In the predawn darkness, the alarm jolts me awake on this chilly March morning. Less than a week after the switch to Daylight Savings Time, it's still a challenge to get up this early.

But the extra hour of morning darkness is welcome. For a few weeks, I don't have to get up as early to watch and shoot the sunrise.

I dress quickly, have a few bites of banana, grab the camera, and go. 

With no time to waste because the sky colors are constantly changing, my first stop is a pedestrian bridge atop a hill, the highest spot nearby.

When the sky is relatively clear, with some scattered clouds for dramatic effect, a Seattle area sunrise (or sunset) is hard to beat. The jagged Cascade peaks to the east and the equally craggy, jagged Olympic Mountains to the west across Puget Sound frame a glowing, brilliant, sometimes subtle sky.


I snap a few quick shots (above), and then dash to the car and drive down to the edge of Puget Sound at Golden Gardens. Why would I go to a west-facing location to shoot a sunrise? For the alpenglow, a reddish glow seen on mountain summits across the horizon from the rising/setting sun.

 
With the reflected light of the sunrise to the east, the snowy peaks are aglow with orange-pink light. And it's not just the peaks; lingering clouds are also tinged pastel pink.

Not many are out this early on a weekday morning. It's just me and the seagulls plus a few joggers. Not a bad backdrop for a morning run.

Because it's my personal ritual to always touch the sea whenever I go to the beach, I crawl over some rocks down to the water's edge and dip my hand into the salty water.

And then it's off to get ready for the work day ahead, but not before pausing to appreciate the lovely spring blossoms overhead.

Because spring has arrived here in the Pacific Northwest.


Think about getting up early to welcome spring at the cusp of morning. I guarantee it's an invigorating way to start your day.

[Add-on a day later: Another spectacular sunrise today! Didn't have the camera, but the image of neon orange, gold,  and pink layered with dark purple-blue clouds is seared in my mind.]


Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.    

Into Olympic National Park: Glaciers and Rain Shadows

Ever been to Hurricane Ridge in Olympic National Park? Perched on the northernmost edge of the Olympic Mountains above Port Angeles, it's easy to get to and offers stunning views.

But just a few miles eastward with even more spectacular, 360 views (and almost as easy to access) is much-less visited Deer Park. 

A couple weeks ago I was fortunate to join Olympic National Park field scientist Bill Baccus on a morning trip up to Deer Park/Blue Mountain in the very northeastern corner of the park. Lucky me, the weather was sunny and mild, in fact just about perfect really.

Be forewarned that the drive up to Deer Park is a little harrowing if you're at all squeamish about heights. As driver Bill cheerfully told me about his work on the way up the one-lane, narrow dirt road with no guardrails and very steep drop-offs, I inwardly squelched my anxiety and looked straight ahead. Not down.


As a guest blogger for the Washington's National Park Fund, which is helping to fund the glacier monitoring program Bill leads, my goal was to learn about the program so far and report on it. The news isn't so great. (Read about it here.)

Carrie Glacier as seen from Blue Mountain.

Since about 1980, Olympic Mountain glaciers have been receding much more rapidly than in the past century. But Bill thinks that data gathering and analysis can help us manage better for the future and, hopefully, strive harder to reduce carbon emissions. (Dust off that bicycle!)

While Bill was off repairing a remote climate monitoring station near the Deer Park campground, I walked the Rain Shadow Loop trail at the summit of Blue Mountain, about a quarter-mile above. 

View west of Klahhane Ridge and Mt. Angeles, road to Hurricane Ridge is the hillside cut.

 

This short half-mile loop around the summit doesn't disappoint on a clear day. 

Okay, that's an understatement. Views up there are fling your arms wide, twirl around, and sing like Julie Andrews or shout in euphoria for the panoramic beauty of it all. (Which I didn't do because I was too busy taking a billion pictures...but I thought about it.) 

You can see north into Canada (Vancouver Island and B.C mainland), east to Cascade volcanoes such as Mt. Baker and elusive Glacier Peak, south deep into the craggy Olympic Mountains, and west up the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

South, (think) Obstruction Peak

Southeast

Eastward, Puget Sound visible in upper left.

Northeast, Mt. Baker (Kulshan) in the distance.

Tanker headed east on the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

Bill told me that this is about the driest place in Olympic National Park, protected by a rain shadow from the fronts that tend to come in from the south-southwest on the Pacific coast. (For more about the rain shadow effect in this area and updated weather info, check out the Olympic Rain Shadow website.)

Some of the lichen, plants, and trees up here don't generally grow west of the Cascade Crest, such as lodgepole pine (which, like glaciers, are threatened by climate change).

Yes, there are a few longer and more rigorous hiking trails that head into the park wilderness from here. But this is what I had time for, and it thrilled me just the same.

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! And I'd love to hear in the comments below about your Northwest experiences.

In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news. 

When You Go
We're getting close to the end of the season to access Deer Park and Blue Mountain summit, but as of today the Deer Park campground was still open. From Highway 101 that runs along the northern peninsula, take the Deer Park exit just east of Port Angeles and head on up. When you reach the dirt road, you're within the national park boundary. It's 18 miles from Hwy 101 to the trailhead. Big rigs and trailers aren't recommended on the narrow gravel road to the top.