Feeling the Darkness Approaching

Never mind today's numbers (well, ok, mind: sunrise 7:57 AM, sunset 5:57 PM),

or what happens on Sunday when the time changes (sunrise 7:01 AM, sunset 4:53 PM)(don't let the time change fool you into not noticing the absolute loss of 8 minutes of daylight in three days).

What seems to matter, and I've been running this calculation in my head since maybe August, over and over, is how long before the days are again at least as long as they are right now. And the answer at the moment is that on February 10, 2009, the days will again be the same length they are today. Three long dark months and a bit from now.

Sunrise yesterday.

Did Went West Over the Weekend,

(thank you for asking, J.B.) Went first up the Sol Duc River, to see if somehow there were still salmon jumping at the Cascade. No. Much less water flow in the river than when they were jumping before I went to Colorado. Some fish cruising around in the pool below, but nobody jumping. Is it over? Or are they waiting for higher water flow?

The sun crosses much lower in the sky, even at midday the forest at the Cascade has that low-angle-sunshine glow. It made the crimson of the vine maples almost surreal, but I couldn't get a good picture.

The forest at the Cascade

Out at Rialto, the waves came in the way they do.

Rialto Beach. Click for larger image.

Coming home, stopped just behind the beach at the pullout over the Quileute River, to look for ducks and seals and eagles and whatever. I always look for seals because I saw once saw one there. No seals, nor ducks.

Quileute River. Click for larger image.

Sat and read for a while, and heard eagles cry. (They have little voices.) I looked up to see three of them way way up, circling over the river. Too far for a good image.

Olas en el Mar del Nubes

Oh my. This is simply beautiful, Olas en el Mar de Nubes (Waves in the Sea of Clouds)... Filmed on La Palma by meteorologist Fernando Bullón Miró. Offered at http://www.meteored.com/ram/, where it says (in Spanish) that the imagery may be used for noncommerical or educational purposes...

Thanks to Our Descent Into Madness for finding this...

Frost On the Roofs, Frost on the Cars

Frosty dawn, October 19.

Zowie Webcam

Olympic Region Clean Air Agency has a webcam pointing up toward Hurricane Ridge across the houses of town. (Actually, I think Klahane Ridge and Mount Angeles, but why quibble.) A lot of nice leaf color in the foreground at the moment.

Going Into A Wild Field, Not Choosing

Crestone Mountain Zen Center, October 9-14, 2008.

Looking Up at the Mountain, Very Light Snow
Teisho Drum
After Morning Service
Morning Light in the Kannon-Do

En Route

Travelling remote to remote: from PA to anywhere is a production. From there to somewhere hard to get to is an epic... Boulder at the moment, headed to Crestone.

The salmon are jumping, and I'm not there.

River Mile 59

As far west as I got this weekend was Salmon Cascades on the Sol Duc. It's been raining, I thought, and maybe the salmon have come up the river?? Oh yes. Some jumping yesterday, and it rained all day while I was out there. Today lots lots more water, and lots more salmon. Some of them were really big.

Before the river flow picked up on Saturday and before other people were around, I was standing in a spot where I could actually hear the splat-plop when a fish bounced off the cascade he was trying to penetrate and fell back down onto the water surface. Maybe I saw one make it: he got his front end stuck in and was swimming like mad up through the downpouring water, but almost immediately was out of sight on the other side of a boulder, so I couldn't see if he got washed back down or got through. Sunday, vast lots of water pouring down. Still, occasionally you could hear over the roaring cascade the flitter-flitter-flitter as a 30-inch fish's fins and tail swam like crazy as it landed in the flow. Sometimes one with good jumping power but bad aim would end up in a little deadend pothole on the other side. You'd see it nosing around and thinking about what to do. Then after a while slither itself over the edge and back down into the river to try again.

They spawn a couple of miles further up, between RM 61 and RM 63. So every year some strong clever fish must make it. Go, fishes, go.

Coho salmon slithering out of a dead end to try again.Top of Salmon Cascades. Vine maples in the background. Click for larger image.

High Surf Advisory

The radio says, "High surf advisory for the Washington coast."

Need a complete new plan for the day. West. I must head west. Now.

The Cyrillic Ship

The end of the story at the beginning: I called the Pilot Station just now and persevered with the guy on the phone until he was willing to look at his records and yes, the bright orange ship with the Cyrillic lettering that I saw in the harbor on September 16th was Russian: it was the "Bereg Mechty". She's a refrigerated fish carrier built in 1982. Good picture of her at images-of-ships.co.uk. She might be for sale, if I understand this market report. She was detained in Seattle in December 2007 for safety issues: "2. PORT STATE CONTROL (Recent Detentions) M/V BEREG MECHTY (Russia) detained at Seattle. DEFECTS: Auxiliary steering gear pump#2 does not have adequate strength to sufficiently steer ship or be brought into speedily action in case of emergency causing undue risk to crew. Stbd lifeboat engine not ready for use after given 30 mins."

Bereg Mechty in Port Angeles harbor, but lettering too small to show to anyone who knows Russian...

The day before yesterday there were two big ships at the Marine Terminal dock down at the harbor. I love the way the tankers tower when they're docked to the west of downtown, taller than any building we have; but because of patchy fog on the water, I had to go right out to the dock to get a picture. While I was taking my snap of the Lawrence H. Gianella and Polar Discovery,

Lawrence H. Gianella and Polar Discovery

I spotted the building that houses the Port of Port Angeles Marine Terminal/Security office, and decided to come back and ask them about the cyrillic ship. Today the fog was thick right down to the water. I bounded up the steps with my question, but the gentleman had no idea, I guess he only knows about what comes to the terminal. He suggested calling the Pilots, who would have brought it into the harbor. Finally, an answer: Bereg Mechty.

Polar Discovery, fog

I should go down there more often. Even when you can't see anything it cheers me up.

P.S. I can't believe I had the Gianella right there at the dock in front of me and didn't know to look at its Antarctic adaptations. The name was vaguely familiar, but I assumed that was because it had been around the harbor on some previous occasion. No. It's 'cause I used to obsessively read about Antarctica, and the Gianella is often in the story of the annual arrival of the ships at McMurdo (1) (2)(3)(4).

Any Day With Harlequin Ducks In It...

...is a particularly good day.

Went out to Salt Creek Park pretty early this morning. Tomorrow is the Audubon Society event with the Olympic Vulture Study, but I wanted to get out of the house, and besides who said the birds would wait for tomorrow. The tide was well out over the Tongue Point tidepools. Saw a tern dive and catch something, in Crescent Bay. Some auklets, some cormorants. Gulls of course. And lots of harlequin ducks, chasing each other around and making their bath-toy squeaks and generally not behaving with the sort of dignity you'd attribute to such an elegantly marked critter.

Diane McCrae turned up with her scope after about an hour, but the migrating turkey vultures did not. We shared giggles over the harlequins, and pointed out other birds to each other. She keeps peanuts in her pockets and tosses them out to the crows; well, it must get boring sitting there day after day waiting for hundreds (or thousands) of turkey vultures to cross the Strait and start streaming by overhead so she can count them on her tally sheet.

Blue-grey morning, Salt Creek Park

Pelican Migration. Who Knew?

Rialto Beach in foggy weather. Pelicans passing by for hours, flying north to south. They flew by in threes and twelves and thirties, not fishing, not hanging around, just flying by, flying by. We can't find any book or web page that tells us that that's what pelicans do on the Washington coast at the end of September. That we saw what we saw.

Out there they are fluid, graceful. They skim the water, they rise up, they bunch, they spread out. Direct links: (1)(2)

Overhead they are astonishing: six-foot wingspans.

Overhead

More to tell: then we went around to the other side of the river, birds and things in La Push. Then we when we came home we went straight out onto Ediz Hook where the only action whatsoever was a loon on the Strait side. Then we went out on the deck at 8:30 and watched Golden Princess pass by the bottom of the street, a rectangle of bright lights steaming past in the dark. No wonder there haven't been any visible cruise ships. Sunset moved but the sailing schedule did not.)

Right now we gotta dart out to the Hoh Rainforest and get rained on.

Winter Coming Soon: Lillian Ridge

Out to Obstruction Point with P. We were above the clouds that have blanketed town for the past two days, but the air was murky up there. (Maybe smoke in the air. There's fires in Oregon.)

We hiked a little ways in, had a picnic, looked and looked and looked for marmots. It was lavishly beautiful; but dry; and everything seemed over, finished, shutting down, winter-coming, though it was warm warm warm. We saw a horned lark in the grass. Many scarlet patches of Vaccinium deliciosum, all over the landscape. Accenting tiny lakes, and scattered down the slopes.

P. heads down to look for a patch of scarlet berry leaves. (Click for larger image).Patches of Cascade blueberry, leaves turned scarlet. (Click for larger image).

A mile or so down the road on our way out, a marmot was sitting on top of his burrow, very close to the road. Oh he was so cute, with his little white nose and his body so fat, so ready to hibernate. Didn't try to get a picture, getting out of the car would have scared him off. Sleep well, marmot. See you next year.

Looking back: because we might not see it again until next July. (Click for larger image).

PS Hunting around for some history that explains why there is this astonishing road straight to paradise, I found the Kaleberg's beautiful page of photos taken up there this week. Lots of red, and before the foggy (smoky?) air moved in. Found the history on Nature Education Enterprises blog.

OMG

A great blue heron just landed in the top of the tree in the middle of the vacant lot across the street. Stayed a while, silhouetted against the bright eastern sky. Then spread his vast wings and flew away.

Cool Tool

Equinox coming, equinox coming. Weather permitting, perhaps on next Monday can get a nice reassuring experience of "Yes, by golly, the sun rises in the (exactly) east and sets in the (exactly) west."

My old sighting compass does not hold its declination setting anymore, and I have to keep resetting it. So what is it (exactly) at the moment, here? Estimated Value of Magnetic Declination. "Declination = 17° 35' E changing by 0° 10' W/year". Thank you, NOAA.

PS Note to self: used the lat/long of the airport, Latitude: 48.11888888; Longitude: -123.49361111.

Actual Ocean

Always the same place, about 80 minutes from home. So. Out to the end of Rialto Beach, Sunday last. It was a perfect blue day. I filled the camera with attempts to capture pelicans,

and waves striking rocks. Pelicans floating, pelicans hunting, pelicans diving. As most often, I stopped short of the end of the beach, at the spot where, the first time I saw it, I thought it was the most beautiful beach I'd ever been on. Click for larger images.

Perfect blue daySea stacks before the arch: the guardian stones

And again at sunset on Thursday, with M. Pelicans diving, chipmunk on the beach. Hike out to within reach of the sea stacks, sit on a log, picnic. We hiked back just in time, the sun touching the horizon as we left, the whole visible world composed of golden light.

Rialto Beach, looking north, eveningRialto Beach, looking south, evening

I should have gone again yesterday.

Whoo Hoo: Orcas in the Harbor

According to Orcanetwork, "There were 5 transients that went into Port Angles Harbour on the afternoon of the 9th. They were T41, T41A, T44, T109A and T109A2." According the the news article they appeared around 2 PM. So I was at work, and then at the laundromat, while I was missing my chance to see orcas from shore Right Here.

(My colleague J.R. told us on Friday morning that Thursday afternoon he and his wife had seen orcas from the tribe's beach at Angeles Point.)

Seasonal Note

This week the Coho ferry slips back from four runs a day to three, and is spending his nights at the mooring here in Port Angeles instead of in Victoria. First crossing of the day is the 8:20 from here, and no longer the 6:10 from the other side.

I've redated the visit posts. Having them appear in-order-as-composed rather than chronologically was confusing even me (and I was there when they happened.) One more retrospective post to put together, our Friday morning on the Strait. But I'm going to wait to do that tonight. Time to ignore the siren call of desk chair and couch, and head out to the ocean.

Here

I've been here a year. When I have guests, they ask me whether I have made new friends here. Except for M. (whom I have known for two decades), not.

This week I heard from a bookseller friend who has been reading about Yeats, and it made me think of The Lake Isle of Innisfree. Because, now that she put it in my mind, I can see this: except that I came near the ocean instead of to the sort of place Yeats was (writing as if) yearning for, I did it. I went where I wanted to be and here I am, living alone in the bee-loud glade.

One year and counting, and I'm still not lonely.

Out the window. Dusk.

This post comes with a soundtrack, I suppose. Hamilton Camp's setting of Innisfree. But I can't get a good link to the sound clip, and anyway it doesn't sound the way I remember from forty years ago. (Or perhaps the soundtrack is the surf at Rialto.)

The Visit: Heard a Marmot, Saw a Marmot

Late on Thursday afternoon we drove up onto Hurricane Ridge and then out the dirt road to Obstruction Point and headed up the trail along Lillian Ridge. Almost right away we heard a marmot whistling, right where all the trail books say to watch for marmots. We looked and looked, and finally spotted him, sunning on a rock on the far side of the hollow. He/she was just hanging out on a rock, whistling.

Where the marmot was, elevation 6100' on Lillian Ridge

We hiked along the trail to the next little rise, and then another, one eye on the time because we had a long way to go to get back to town before dark. There were not so many flowers. The sun got lower in the sky, the light more lavish. When we came back the marmot was quiet, but still on his rock. With the sun behind him he cast a tiny far-away shadow on the bit of meadow below. We enjoyed the idea that he spends most of his time looking at the world from his rock, except when he goes in his burrow, which we imagined must be right there under the rock

The View from a bit further on and higher up

PS The revision of the Park website has caused their photo of an Olympic Marmot to vanish. Here it is, as retrieved from the Wayback Machine.